


The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

by mae428



Series: Poetry In Motion [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: M/M, tags to be added!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mae428/pseuds/mae428
Summary: It's the summer of 1985 and Elio embarks on his second year at Juilliard.A continuation of Come Live With Me & Be My Love (which you should definitely read first), now the Poetry In Motion Series.





	1. And we will some new pleasures prove

**Author's Note:**

> And here is the start of Part 2 of Come Live With Me & Be My Love, AKA the Poetry In Motion Series!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I just had to put something out to get those creative juices flowing again ;)

_ August 1985 _

 

I brought the record player into the kitchen so that I wouldn’t disturb Oliver by blaring it from the living room. 

I couldn’t help but rock my hips and nod my head along with the beat. And when George Michael started singing? Well...I hummed to follow along but it soon turned into a full-blown concert. Despite the fact that I was elbows deep in a pile of dirty dishes from dinner the night before, I couldn’t resist singing along.

“You get the grey skies outta my way...You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day. Turn a bright spark into a flame.” 

By this point, I was hitting each dance move that George Michael did in the music video.

“‘Cause you're my lady, I'm your fool...Makes me crazy when you act so cru- ah!”

Oliver grabbed me around my waist and pressed up behind me so that I was effectively trapped between the sink and his warm body.

“Someone is happy,” he purred against my ear. His voice was still rough with sleep and he was wearing just his boxers.

“Did I wake you up?” I asked, turning to press a kiss to his cheek before I went back to the dishes. 

“Mmh no.” He began to move his hips, getting me back into the rhythm for the last minute of the song. I hummed along, which I knew Oliver liked, if him burying his face into my neck was anything to go by.

_Everything She Wants_ came on next and I slowed my hips to match the tempo. Oliver followed suit and squeezed my hips. He snorted as he listened to the lyrics.

“There is no way he’s straight.”

“He says he is,” I said with a shrug as I picked up another plate to be cleaned.

“Yeah, but have you seen him?” 

I giggled as I scrubbed at the crusted remnants of our meal. “Well...better for me if he’s into men, hmm?” I quipped.

“Hey!” Oliver began tickling my sides, but I had the upper hand. Mainly, I had soap all over my hands. 

I turned in his grasp to smear suds over his cheek and down his bare chest. He retaliated with an attempt to tickle my sides again. We wrestled for a bit until Oliver finally trapped me against the counter. We were both panting, grinning, and covered in soap bubbles. I raked my eyes over Oliver’s sudsy chest; based on how covered we were, I decided I won our match, even if I was the one who was currently pinned against the counter.

“Seriously,” Oliver said between kisses, “we go back to school tomorrow. How can you be so happy?”

I shrugged and nipped at his lower lip, chasing him for another kiss as he pulled back just a little. “I had a good summer,” I said simply. “I’m ready for…” I trailed off and shrugged.

“The next thing?”

“The next thing.”

The rest of our summer had been perfect. Our time in Crema flew by far too fast, but I was happy to return to New York. We’d spent the past month seeing our friends mostly every day and revelling in our dwindling time off.

“Ugh.” Oliver rolled his eyes and pulled me out of my reminiscing with a nip to my collarbone, “I hope my students don’t suck this year.” 

“Don’t say that,” I chastised, swatting Oliver’s arm. “You love your students.” 

“Yeah, I loved my students last year. But this is a whole new batch of freshmen.” He huffed against and buried his face in my neck. “I hate teaching freshmen.”

“You’re being a baby,” I accused with a pinch to his side. 

“Stop that. I’m getting fat. Don’t remind me.”

I laughed and held Oliver a little tighter. He tended to get pissy and needy before going back to school after a break, so I attempted to soothe him with gentle kisses along his shoulder. “You’re not getting fat,” I said softly. He pressed his thigh between my legs and I groaned. “Stop distracting me, I’m trying to comfort you.” He nipped at my neck in retaliation. “Do you want me to look over your syllabus? There are other perks to dating someone so young besides my body, you know.”

That earned me a chuckle as Oliver moved to stand at his full height. “How do you know I’m not just going to use the same one as last year?”

“First of all,” I started, “because I know you and you’re not one to reuse. Second, remember that afternoon in Crema when I wanted you to fuck me in the kitchen because my parents were out? And you refused because you were, and I quote, ‘balls deep in the new syllabus’? Yeah, I’m not forgetting that any time soon.”

Oliver groaned and tried to distract me with more kisses, which worked for a bit until my stomach growled. 

“You make breakfast,” I said as I pulled back. I patted Oliver side and he whined, letting his head drop to my shoulder. I smiled and let him indulge in our closeness for a few more minutes. “Okay, seriously. You make breakfast and I’ll look at your syllabus.” I gently shoved at Oliver’s chest to get him going. 

I made myself comfortable at Oliver’s desk in the study and pulled his syllabi towards me. He was teaching two sections of Philosophy 1010, Methods and Problems of Philosophical thought, and one of Philosophy 2003, Philosophy of Art. He taught Monday-Thursday and luckily had Fridays off. I decided to look over the Methods and Problems syllabus first and snorted at the course description:

This course provides a whirlwind tour of some “big questions” of philosophy. We will engage with modern, often contemporary, authors on such perennial issues as the nature of consciousness, personal identity, time, generality, possibility and necessity, mathematics, logic, and existence. We will critically evaluate our common-sense claims to freedom, responsibility, and knowledge. And we will shine the light back on ourselves and ask what we philosophers can hope to achieve.

It was so  _ Oliver _ , so completely in his own voice. No matter how much he worried about hating his students, or worse: his students hating him, I knew that Oliver cared too deeply to let that happen. And that’s what made him a fantastic professor. I looked over the first syllabus and nodded along with Oliver’s required selections. I’d read most of them and approved of the coursework. I picked up the second one and actually laughed out loud at the description. I read over the readings and assignments before waltzing back to the kitchen. I announced my presence with a dramatic clearing of my throat before reciting:

“This is an introductory course in the Philosophy of Art. We will consider questions including (but not limited to) the following: What is art? Should we try to define art? What is taste? What are the conditions for aesthetic judgement? What is an aesthetic experience? We shall also consider the topics of public art, fakes and forgeries, art and technology, and the philosophical implications of speaking in an art world.”

Oliver turned away from the stove to face me and at least had the decency to look bashful. 

“Seriously?” I laughed, tossing the papers onto the counter. “I didn’t realize  _ my pap _ _ à _ was teaching at Columbia this semester.”

“He may have helped me a bit with that one,” Oliver admitted with a shrug. “Did you like them?”

“I think your students are  _ very _ lucky, Professor Stern,” I purred, sauntering up to him and snaking my arms around his neck. He hummed and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I would be more than happy to take a class with you.”

“I can think of a few nuggets of wisdom to impart.” Oliver put on a mock-thinking face before grinning down at me. “Most of which are in the bedroom.”

“Later,” I promised, leaning up on my tiptoes for a kiss. 

“So,” I started later as we lounged in the study with the windows wide open. We were sharing a cigarette between us and I passed it to Oliver before continuing. “Why do you dislike freshmen so much? You had them last year.”

“Yes, I know, but it was my first year teaching. I had to do my due diligence. I just thought,” Oliver shrugged and passed the cigarette back to me, “I thought I’d get  _ at least _ sophomores this year. The students who are in intro classes don’t all want to be there and are just getting credits out of the way.”

I pouted and knocked my shoulder against his. “I didn’t do that last year.”

“Yeah, but you’re  _ different _ , Elio. First off, you’re in a specialized program. Also, I don’t know, you like any class and you really apply yourself.” I flushed and snuggled up against Oliver side. He laughed and wrapped his arm around me, effectively tucking me close to him. He seemed much calmer than earlier, much more confident in his teaching abilities. “What about you?” he asked after finishing the cigarette and putting out the butt in the ashtray. “You excited for the semester?”

“Very,” I said, shifting against Oliver’s side. “I’ll finally be done with all my prerequisites this semester and then I can start taking electives.” Oliver kissed the top of my head and let me continue to chatter away about my classes and professors, even though I’d told him all about it close to one hundred times.

The rest of the afternoon was spent doing chores around the house, including three loads of laundry, and readying ourselves for the upcoming week. I even went so far as to organize outfits for Oliver for the entire week so that he wouldn’t end up wearing the same button-down every day. We opted for a light dinner of cheese, crackers, fruit, and prosecco to celebrate the end of a good summer. I was pleasantly buzzed as Oliver let me have most of the bottle, and we were soon sprawled on the couch, I in my usual spot on Oliver’s lap, trading lazy kisses.

“Love you,” I murmured against Oliver’s lips. I kissed him again before he could reply, but Oliver pulled back.

“God, Elio,” he breathed. He carded his fingers through my hair, which was starting to get a bit longer - so much so that I had to occasionally shake it out of my eyes. “Love hearing you say that.”

“I love you,” I repeated. I looked down at Oliver, at where he had his head thrown back against the couch. I decided his neck needed some decoration. I began with just soft kisses and licks but quickly started sucking marks against Oliver’s skin. He moaned and held onto my hips tighter as I wriggled a bit closer. I spent a few minutes making sure the side of his neck was littered with bruises before I pulled back to admire my work. “Beautiful,” I sighed as I ran my fingers over the marks. I knew Oliver’s collar would cover them until they faded, but I had a perverse desire for all his students and coworkers to see them. I whined at the thought and clutched at Oliver’s shirt.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, eyelids fluttering open so he could look up at me. 

“Want everyone to know,” I said breathlessly. I let my small hand wrap around his neck, marvelling at how I could barely get my fingers around a quarter of his neck. Oliver surged up at that, cupping my jaw and bringing me in for a biting kiss. We retired to the bedroom soon after that, where Oliver let me mark him up as much as I wanted as he fucked me.

I woke up before Oliver the next morning, as I had to be at school an hour before he did. I went about my morning routine: showering, dressing, and having a quick breakfast before packing my backpack. I headed into the bedroom before leaving to say goodbye to find Oliver already up and getting dressed.

“What are you doing awake?” I asked, coming up behind him to wrap my arms around his waist as he finished buttoning up his shirt.

“I figured I’d walk you to class today,” he said, turning in my arms so that he could kiss me. I grinned and nodded, reminded of when Oliver walked me to school before the start of my freshman year. He leaned in to kiss me again, and I let him for a few moments before I pulled back.

“Don’t let this escalate. Or else we’ll both be late.” That earned me a pout and a sigh, so I allowed one more kiss before we left. 

Oliver and I walked to Juilliard with our fingers threaded together, both with our bags slung over our shoulders and our sunglasses on. We were quiet as we walked, both just enjoying the warm morning sun. 

“Have a good first day,” Oliver said as we approached. He dropped my fingers once we were about a block away and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from visibly frowning.

“You too.” I waved at Matt and Cassidy when I spotted them waiting for me outside. Just like before freshman year, I desperately wished I could kiss Oliver goodbye. But it went unspoken between us that we would keep the PDA to a minimum nearby our respective schools.

“Hey! Long time no see,” Cassidy teased as she wrapped Oliver in a hug. The four of us had been seeing quite a lot of each other since we returned from Crema, and both Matt and Cassidy had been incredibly supportive after Daniel died.

“I was thinking we could all go for dinner tonight,” Oliver said after Cassidy released him. I loved how close he was with my friends and I’d recently decided to make it a priority to spend more time with his friends. 

“I was kinda planning on going to the Met after class,” I said with a shrug. Oliver got out a few hours after me on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I figured I’d start the semester with a trip to see the new exhibit on Karl Bodner.

“Let’s go to JG Melon for burgers, then,” Cassidy offered. “The three of us can go to the museum and Oliver can meet us at the restaurant after. Sound good?”

“Perfect. I’m done by 5:30, should be there by 6.”

I glanced down at my watch and sighed before looking up at Oliver, squinting against the sun as I did. “You should go. You’re gonna be late.”

“I’ll see you later.” Oliver’s voice was quieter as if his words were just for me even with Cassidy and Matt right next to us. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted so badly to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him senseless until we were both dizzy and breathless.

_ Oliver Oliver Elio Oliver Elioliver Olivelio kiss me, kiss me, kiss me… _

I pushed up onto my tiptoes to smack a quick kiss on Oliver’s cheek before heading towards the building’s entrance. I heard Cassidy and Matt laugh before they finally caught on and fell into step with me. I threw Oliver a cheeky smile over my shoulder, to find him still standing stock still.

“Later!” I called, waving at Oliver before throwing my arms around my friends as we stepped inside.

Oliver met us for dinner at JG Melon at five past 6. We’d arrived only ten minutes prior but had already placed an order for four burgers and copious amounts of fries and beer, so the table was already pretty full. 

“Good day?” Oliver asked as he sat down, interrupting our fit of giggles at Matt’s spot-on imitation of Professor Kuznetsov.

“Hi!” I resisted the urge to hug Oliver, but my hesitated lurch towards him did not go unnoticed.

“Hi,” he laughed, ruffling my hair before letting his hand drop to my shoulder where he massaged my muscles. I instantly relaxed under his touch and let our thighs touch under the table.

Matt, Cassidy, and I launched into conversation about our first day back: new professors, different classes, old friends. I was surprised at how easy it had been to fall back into this schedule of class during the day and catching up with friends and Oliver at night, and as we made our way back home through the park after an ice cream cone that definitely threw us both over the edge, I was almost happy that summer was behind us. 

Summer in New York was hot, almost unbearably so, and aside from that, it kept me from thinking about Daniel too much. When I had free time, I often found myself getting caught up in my emotions. 

When we got back to our apartment building, Oliver checked our small mailbox as I pressed the button for the elevator.

“Anything interesting?” I asked as Oliver flipped through our mail.

“Hmm...not really. Mostly programming for the Met Opera and Lincoln Cen…” Oliver trailed off and looked up at me once he got to an envelope nestled among catalogues and advertisements.

“What?” I asked, brows furrowing. The elevator dinged and we stepped in. Oliver still hadn’t answered. “What?”

“Did you write to Daniel’s family?”

I flushed and nodded. I’d almost forgotten that I’d sent them a note right before we left for Crema. Mark hadn’t been able to get through to them, and we were unsure if they even knew that their son had died. So I took it upon myself to write his parents a letter, explaining that he’d contracted AIDS and had died in May. “I did,” I said, my own voice sounding far away. Oliver plucked the envelope from the stack and passed it to me. On the front, my name was written in perfectly practised cursive. I flipped the envelope over to find a return address.

 

__Dr. & Mrs. Daniel Blythe  
655 Park Avenue  
__ Penthouse 1B  
New York, NY 10065

 

As soon as we were in the apartment, I ripped open the envelope with shaking hands to find a note written on neatly folded and clearly expensive linen stationery. The letter was in the same looped script as the envelope.

_ Dear Mr. Perlman, _

_ I would like to speak with you regarding the letter I have received. Please plan to meet me at Sant Ambroeus on Madison Avenue and 78th Street on 31 August 1985 at 10:00 AM. _

_ Graciously, _

_ Mrs. Daniel Blythe _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter, I know but I hope you all enjoyed and I can't wait for Part 2! Comments, constructive criticism, ideas, etc. always appreciated!! :) For those interested:
> 
> [Oliver's Methods & Problems Syllabus](http://www.columbia.edu/~jc4345/methods%20and%20problems%20spring%202017%20syllabus.pdf)
> 
>  
> 
> [Oliver's Philosophy of Art Syllabus](http://philosophy.columbia.edu/files/philosophy/content/PHILG6801AestheticsandPoliticsGOEHRFall2011.pdf)


	2. Then let’s both lay by our rope and go kiss within the hay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Mr. Perlman,
> 
> I would like to speak with you regarding the letter I have received. Please plan to meet me at Sant Ambroeus on Madison Avenue and 78th Street on 31 August 1985 at 10:00 AM.
> 
> Graciously,  
> Mrs. Daniel Blythe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for the INSANE delay. I went on a brief holiday for Memorial Day and I've had a friend visiting for the past 2 weeks, so it's been nothing less than hectic! I promise I'm going to get on some sort of posting schedule (hopefully lol) now that the ball is kind of rolling here with plot. Had a bit of writer's block this chapter, hence why it's a tad short, but I hope you enjoy!

“How dare she?” I was fuming. “How dare she just assume the time and place work for me? How dare she reach out after all this time?” I huffed and shook the paper in front of Oliver’s face. “And her tone? Her  _ tone _ , Oliver. It’s so cagey. It’s so clear she was afraid of putting too many details in writing. And ‘Mrs.  _ Daniel _ Blythe’? What, was her whole identity erased the moment she got married?” I had my head tipped back and a clump of tissues held against my nose in an attempt to keep my nosebleed at bay. 

“Elio.” Oliver plucked the paper out of my fingers and put it to the side. I’d read it over so many times in the past hour that the ink was already smudged.

“So much for expensive stationary,” I sneered as Oliver looked at the blotch of black ink now on his thumb.

“Elio,” he repeated, levelling me with a stare.

“Oliver.”

“Baby, c’mere.” He was sat in the middle of the couch from where he’d been watching me pace across our living room. I sighed as I went over to collapse next to him. He dragged me closer and began rubbing my foot, cracking each toe. “Deep breaths,” Oliver encouraged. I took a shuddering breath as Oliver reached over to gently pry the tissue from my fingers. He wiped at the crusty blood on my upper lip before grabbing a clean tissue to hold against my nose. “You know you don't have to go if you don't want to, right?”

I nodded and gently swatted Oliver’s hand out of the way so that I could hold the tissue myself and so that he could concentrate on massaging my feet. He got the memo and began cracking the toes on my other foot. I let my head fall back over the arm of the couch and hoped that my nosebleed would soon stop. 

“I think I’m going to go,” I said finally after Oliver finished cracking all my joints and was then just rubbing my feet. 

“I’ll come with you if you want.”

“Maybe.” I sighed and closed my eyes. “Could you get me some ice?” Oliver kissed the top of my foot before getting up. He returned momentarily with an ice pack and a glass of cold water. “Thanks.” I sat up and swapped the tissue for the ice pack, glad that the trickling blood had subsided. 

Oliver grabbed a collection of Yeats’ works and sat back down on the couch, letting me snuggle up against his side. He read the poems out loud for a few hours until my eyes began to droop. Finally, just after 10, Oliver closed the book and helped me move to our bed. 

The first week of school went smoothly and I actually found it very easy to slip back into that routine again. It was nice to have classes and homework to occupy my time again, and since I was a sophomore I was able to put together my own schedule. Luckily, I had off on Fridays just like Oliver which gave us three day weekends to enjoy together.

I woke up on the 31st just before 7 am, a ball of nervous energy. I had decided to meet Daniel’s mother that morning and I hoped that the conversation wouldn’t be a complete disaster. I sighed and rolled out of bed, knowing that trying to fall back asleep would be a lost cause.

“Come back,” Oliver grumbled from the bed. 

“Go back to sleep,” I insisted with a kiss to the top of his head before tiptoeing out of the bedroom. I made myself a cup of coffee and tried to settle down in the study to read but that was a futile effort. I flitted around the apartment for the better part of an hour before I went back into our bedroom. Oliver was still asleep as I settled down on the floor in front of our dresser. I opened the bottom drawer and took a deep breath, steeling myself as I pulled out the box where I kept Daniel’s personal items.

I pulled out some photographs, a few of his original compositions, his journal, and a string of rosary beads he kept in his bedside table. I planned on bringing the items to Daniel’s mother, figuring she might want some of them. 

“Hey.” Oliver sat behind me, shaking me out of my contemplation. “You still sure you wanna go today?”

“Yeah.” I leaned back, letting Oliver wrap me up in his arms. “What time is it?”

“8:30.”

“I think I’m gonna walk there so I’ll leave in an hour.”

“You wanna shower?”

“Please.”

Oliver kissed along the back of my neck and shoulder before standing and heading into the bathroom. I heard him turn the water on and I slowly gathered Daniel’s possessions and put them in my bag.

“Perfect timing,” Oliver said from inside the shower once I finally came into the bathroom. “Water’s perfect.” 

I undressed and left my clothes in a heap on the floor. As soon as I was in the shower, Oliver wrapped his arms around me and pulled me under the warm spray. 

“Hi,” I murmured, looking up at him with a small smile.

“And you’re sure you don’t want me to come with you today?”

“I’m sure, but thank you.”

“Maybe we can do something fun after. Go to a museum or something.” I hummed and pressed my forehead against his collarbone. He ran his hands over my back, drawing me a bit closer. 

Oliver took it upon himself to wash my hair and body for me, forcing me to just stand there. He insisted that he wanted to take care of me and make me feel good, and I was happy to let him, always desperate for Oliver’s fingers in my hair.

Later, when I headed towards the door to leave for Sant Ambroeus, Oliver grabbed me by my waist and pulled me towards him.

“I love you, you know that?” 

“I know,” I whispered, tilting my head back to look up at him. He had me tight against his chest and I felt so small in his arms. He leaned down to kiss me and I had half a mind to stay at home, skip meeting with Daniel’s mother, and bring Oliver right back to bed. But Oliver pulled away from our kiss far too soon for my liking.

“Okay go,” he said with another quick peck to my lips. “Or else I’m going to keep you here all day.”

“Trust me,” I said as I slung my bag over my shoulder once Oliver let me go, “that’s preferable. Later.”

It was sunny and gorgeous outside, and I wished I was still under the covers or in the park with Oliver. I headed over to the Upper East Side through Central Park and let out a long-suffering sigh once I reached Park Avenue. There was no going back now as I was only about five minutes away from the cafe. As I headed down Madison Avenue, I spotted the striped awning and took in a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for whatever was to come. 

I arrived exactly at 10:00 on the dot, but Daniel’s mother was already seated with a cup of coffee at a table by the window. She was a woman of about 50, dressed in a houndstooth suit reminiscent of Princess Diana’s, with her salt and pepper hair pulled into a perfect coif. It was easy to pick her out from the few other patrons due to Daniel’s strong resemblance to his mother.

“Mrs. Blythe?” I asked hesitantly as I approached. She glanced up at me with clear blue eyes and  _ oh _ that was definitely different. Daniel had chestnut brown eyes, but that seemed to be the only trait he didn’t pick up from his mother.

“Catherine Blythe, yes.” She stood and didn’t  _ exactly _ shake the hand I had outstretched. She more so placed her hand in mine and gave my fingers a light squeeze. I half expected her to curtsey. “Mr. Perlman, I presume?”

“Yea- Yes.” I took my seat, only fidgeting for a moment before forcing myself to settle down. Luckily, the waitress came by just at that moment and offered me a menu. “Oh, just a coffee for me, please. Cream and sugar.”

After the waitress took my order, Mrs. Blythe and I fell into an awkward silence.

“So -”

“I -”

We both started and stopped speaking at the same time and yet another tense silence ensued. 

“Please,” she finally said, though her voice was cold as she gestured at me, “go ahead.”

“Thanks for seeing me,” I started, digging my fingers into my palms. I made a promise to myself not to get angry with her for being absent when Daniel was sick or for missing his funeral. I reached for my bag and busied myself with rustling through the contents as we fell into another lapse of silence. The waitress brought over my coffee and I smiled up at her in thanks before turning my attention back to Mrs. Blythe. “I brought some of his things,” I said quietly, reaching into my bag and pulling out the photographs I brought along. The first one on the pile was of Daniel grinning from ear to ear in front of Bethesda Fountain in Central Park. I smiled down at it, remembering the day clearly and how Daniel made me take pictures of him all around the park with his disposable camera.

“I don’t -” 

But I didn’t let her finish.

“I brought some of his compositions as well,” I said, pulling those out next. “He was doing really well in our classes while he was there. Definitely a favorite. I don’t know if you play, but I figured you might want someone to play these for you. Oh! I thought you might want these as well.” I grabbed the rosary beads and placed them on the table next to Mrs. Blythe’s perfectly manicured hand. “He kept them in his bedside table.” 

“Did you give it to him?” Her words shocked me and I blinked at her, mouth agape. She just stared down at the objects with utmost disdain.

“Did I...Wha-?” I was confused at first, not sure what she meant.

“Yes, Mr. Perlman,  _ did you give it to him _ ?”

It dawned on me. She was asking if I was the one who had given Daniel AIDS. “No, I didn’t, I - your son he was…” I cleared my throat and shifted. “He wasn’t careful all the time and -”

“Then why did you want to see me, if not to apologize for giving it to him?”

“I-I thought you might want - I thought that you might want some closure since you weren’t able to make it to the funeral. He was cremated. My boyfriend and I scattered his ashes in Italy, which is -” I was still trying to work through her accusation.

“I don’t want any of these... _ things _ .”

“Oh, uhm…” I dug around in my backpack again. “Well, I have some pictures of Sirmione where we scattered his ashes. These aren’t from that day, but -”

“You have it too, don’t you?”

“I don’t -”

“You are all disgusting, disease-ridden sinners and  _ you _ did this to Daniel.” 

I was appalled by her words and they made my stomach churn. I felt like I was going to throw up. “Mrs. Blythe, I didn-”

“You, Daniel, your _ faggot boyfriend _ ,” she hissed those words, clearly afraid that someone might overhear her, “not one of you deserves to even live.” She huffed an unamused laugh. “You’ll all get it sooner rather than later and the world will be rid of people like you.”

I stood abruptly, nearly knocking over my coffee in the process. “You are a vile woman,” I spat as I tossed the pictures, compositions, and rosary beads back into my bag. “No,” I said, holding up my hand when she tried to talk again, “you don’t get to say anything anymore. Your son was  _ not  _ disgusting. He was brilliant and kind and funny and one of my best friends. And if you’re mad for missing his funeral, then that’s on you. You don’t get to take that out on me or my boyfriend.” I huffed as I slung my bag over my shoulder. “You are the disgusting one. You are the disgrace and the sinner. You have my address should you come to realize that you are the one in the wrong here. Oh,” I raised my voice a bit and stood up taller, “I’m not a faggot and neither was your son. He was  _ gay _ . I am  _ gay _ . I’m gay and I’m out and I’m proud of it and I have an incredible relationship with someone who loves me. Thanks for the coffee.”

I stormed out before she could get in another word and marched all the way back to the apartment.

The tears didn’t come until I unlocked the door to the apartment. As soon as I stepped inside, I dropped my bag and let out the most pathetic cry. Oliver came out of the kitchen, eyes wide.

“Baby,” he cooed, rushing over to gather me into his arms. I let him, and I sagged against his chest as I continued to weep. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” I shook my head and finally brought a hand up to clutch at the back of Oliver’s shirt. “Shh, okay. It’s okay, you’re home now. C’mon. Let’s sit on the couch.” 

“Bed,” I croaked between shaky gasps for air. I wanted to be snuggled under the covers with my Oliver. 

“Okay. Alright, we can get into bed. Come on, baby.”

It was a bit of a struggle to get back to the bedroom as I kept tripping over my feet and I refused to walk properly, instead keeping my face pressed against Oliver’s chest. We finally made it back into the bedroom and Oliver helped me strip out of my jeans and shirt. He was luckily still in his pajamas and as soon as I was down to my boxers, Oliver crawled right into bed with me. He let me snuggle up against him and cry against his chest, leaving behind a large wet spot on his shirt.

“Sh-She is so cruel,” I finally let out.

“Shh, Elio, it’s alright,” Oliver whispered against my hair. He rubbed his hand over my back and kissed the top of my head. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“She thinks I gave Daniel AIDS.” Now that I’d started talking, it was all coming out in a rush. “She called me and you and him  _ faggots _ . She didn’t even want a picture of him, Oliver, I -” I broke off into another sob and my shoulders shook as I continued to weep against my boyfriend.

“You tried, Elio,” Oliver murmured. “You did the best you could. It’s not your fault she’s the way she is.”

I didn’t respond after that. I just cried and cried until I cried myself to sleep on top of Oliver’s chest. 

When I woke up next, I had a pounding headache and I felt as if someone had stuffed a thousand cotton balls into my mouth. I groaned and shifted, my neck a bit sore from the odd position in which I’d fallen asleep. Oliver was still underneath me and holding me close against his chest.

“Hey,” he whispered as I stirred.

“Time'sit?” I mumbled against his chest. He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. 

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” I’d slept for about four hours. 

“It’s okay. You needed the rest.” He kissed the top of my head again and pushed my curls off my forehead. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make some food?”

“Can you draw me a bath?” I asked, clinging to Oliver a little tighter. 

“Of course I can. You wanna stay here or come?”

“Stay, please.”

Oliver left me with a kiss to my forehead. I snuggled up under the covers and pulled Oliver’s pillow towards me so that I could hug it against my chest. I heard the water start in the bathroom and closed my eyes, figuring I could doze for a bit while Oliver got my bath ready.

Once the water was warm and there were an appropriate amount of bubbles were added to the tub, Oliver helped me out of bed and into the bathroom.

“You want me to stay here?” Oliver asked after helping me into the tub.

“No, it’s okay.” I grabbed the chamomile soap, one of the bars we nicked from Mafalda’s stash when we were back in Crema, and began running it over my arms. 

“Alright. I’ll just be in the kitchen. Call if you need me.”

Oliver left me in peace the entire time I was in the bath and, once I was finished and dried off, I wrapped myself up in Oliver’s robe and padded into the living room to find him on the couch with a cheese plate already prepared and on the coffee table. We spent the rest of the afternoon snacking and watching TV. Oliver didn’t ask me about my meeting with Catherine again, which I was glad for.

In fact, he didn’t ask me about it until four days later. We were both in the kitchen cooking dinner. I was in charge of the swordfish and he was in charge of all sides.

“So,” he said as he dropped diced onion into a sizzling hot pan, “how did you leave things off with Daniel’s mom?” I sighed and poked at the fish in the pan with the spatula. “Leave it alone until it’s ready to flip,” he scolded gently, swatting my hand away.

“I told her she was vile and disgusting,” I admitted, still with my eyes trained on the fish. “I told her that if she ever comes to her senses that she has my contact information.” I swallowed hard and blinked a few times to try and keep the tears at bay. Oliver just kissed my cheek and left it at that.

On the Friday after, as we set the table for dinner, there was a buzz from the front door downstairs. I looked over at Oliver with furrowed brows. “You expecting someone?”

“Yeah,” he said, dashing over to buzz up whoever he invited. A few moments later, there was a knock at the door and Oliver opened it to reveal Mark, standing there with a warm smile and a bottle of wine.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into the apartment. As soon as he handed Oliver the bottle of wine, he had me in a tight hug. I realized Oliver must have invited him because I was having such a hard time with what had happened with Daniel’s mother.

“Thanks for coming,” I whispered, squeezing him a bit tighter. “Guess we’ll need to set the table for three.”

Oliver finished up dinner, I set an extra place, Mark poured the wine, and soon we were all seated at the table with an Erik Satie record on the turntable.

“Oliver mentioned you met with Daniel’s mother.” I glanced up at Oliver and then at Mark and nodded. “He also mentioned it didn’t go so well.”

“Not well at all,” I managed to say before I took a long gulp of my wine.

“We can’t help everyone understand,” he said softly. He put down his fork and turned towards me a little in his seat. “Elio, I’d love for you to come help out at the AIDS Resource Center. My friend Reverend Bailey started it about two years ago.”

“I remember you saying something about that. They’re apartments down in Greenwich, right?” I remembered I’d told Mark I wanted to volunteer and I flushed when I realized I hadn’t made good on my promise.

Mark absolutely beamed. “That’s right. They’re planning on opening another house on Christopher Street in spring of ‘86.”

“I’d really like to volunteer,” I said, smiling when Oliver took my hand and gently squeezed it. “In any way I can. If they need me downtown or up at the new location. I don’t mind. Whatever I can do.”

“I’d like to help too,” Oliver piped in, and I gave him one of my mega-watt smiles. Elio and I both have off on Fridays so maybe we can make that our volunteer day.”

“I think everyone would really appreciate the helping hands. I’ll speak with Reverend Bailey tomorrow and see when we can get you started. It’s…” He trailed off and shook his head. “It’s hard work, there’s no denying that. And it’s really hard most days. We’ve got about a hundred men in our facilities downtown and about fifty women and children.” He took a deep breath and nodded. “But as hard as it is, it’s definitely rewarding. And if you start off downtown and find you’d rather help in the construction zone Christopher, just say the word and you’re there.” He glanced around our apartment and smiled. “Looks like you’d be good on the decorating committee.”

We spent the rest of the evening discussing this year’s coursework and retired to the living room for some amaro and pignolo that Oliver had picked up from a small bakery near Columbia. Mark left around midnight and after we bolted the door, Oliver herded me into the bedroom.

“Do you have any idea,” he started, lips already pressed against my neck as he pushed me up against the wall, “how beautiful you are?”

I whimpered and wrapped one leg around his waist. “Don’t tease.”

“I mean it, Elio.” He nipped at my pulse point and I bucked my hips against his. “You are so delicate, fascinating. So perfect. The second I laid eyes on you…” He pressed his hips hard against mine and uttered a soft  _ fuck _ .

“Please,” I begged, now sliding my fingers into his hair and pulling. 

“What do you want, baby? Let me hear you say it.”

“Want you to fuck me,” I replied immediately. “I want your fingers inside me, Oliver. Want your cock and your come. Want to feel you inside me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed. Before I knew it, he was pulling back and basically ripping my clothes off my body. I tried to help, but I was already limp like a ragdoll, needy for my Oliver. Thankfully, he had us both naked and on the bed in record time and the next thing I knew, Oliver was drizzling lube over his fingers. “That’s it,” he cooed as I let my legs fall open. “So good for me, aren’t you, Elio?”

I nodded and wrapped my hand around my cock, fisting it slowly as I watched Oliver lube up his fingers. He hummed and then one of those gloriously large digits was pressing up against my hole. “Only for you,” I breathed and, as soon as I did, Oliver was pushing his finger inside of me.

“Love you,” he whispered into my neck as he worked me open. “Love how much you want to help people, fuck.” Oliver sucked a mark against my neck and thrust his finger in hard.

“If I knew this would be the reaction I would have started volunteering the day I met you,” I teased, turning my head to kiss Oliver’s temple. He chuckled and pulled back a little so he could look down at me.

“You are so gorgeous,” he said, completely in awe as if he were looking at a da Vinci. I blushed and shrugged and Oliver shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “With your dark curls and your emerald eyes and those perfect lips.” Oliver punctuated each bit of praise with a soft kiss to said lips. He pressed in a second finger and scissored them

“Please,” I said again, bucking my hips up and reaching up to tug at Oliver’s hair. I was desperate and needy and tugged a bit harder than I meant to. Oliver reached up and grabbed my wrist hard, which caused me to yelp with pleasure, my hole fluttering around his fingers. Oliver stopped moving and rose a brow.

“You like that?” he asked, slowly removing my hand from his hand and instead pinning it to the bed. I whimpered and nodded. He regarded me for a moment more before he started to move his fingers again. His thrusts were slow and steady as he opened me up and there was a charged silence between us as we stared at each other. “Do you want me to tie your hands behind your back? Let you ride me like that?”

“Yes, please.” It came out all in a rush and Oliver ghosted a kiss across my forehead before pulling his fingers free and stepping over to the closet. 

“Keep opening yourself up for me, Elio,” he said, which prompted me to shove three fingers into myself. “That’s it, good boy.” I could hear him rustling around in the closet, but my eyes were closed and my head was thrown back as I rolled my hips down and fucked myself on my fingers.

A few moments later, I felt the bed dip next to me, and I looked over to find Oliver with one of his ties in one hand and the other wrapped around his own cock. It was shiny with lube and my hole fluttered at the idea of what was to come. 

“Come here, Elio,” he finally said, shifting a little closer to me. I immediately obeyed and, as much as I didn’t want to, I removed my fingers and clambered on top of Oliver. I straddled his hips and settled down on his thighs, crossing my wrists behind my back without even being prompted. “Eager, aren’t we?” he teased as he brought the tie back. He looped it around my wrists and tied it in a knot, just tight enough to keep my hands where they were. “Feel okay?’’

“Yes,” I breathed, rolling my hips down so that my cock dragged along the hair on his lower stomach. He shifted so that he could properly position his cock beneath my ass. 

As Oliver began to push in, I rolled my head back on my shoulders and closed my eyes. No matter how many times we did this, nothing would ever compare to Oliver pressing into me, going ever so slow at first to get me used to the feeling.

“How’s that feel?” he asked once I was fully seated on his cock. I nodded by way of answering and Oliver pinched my thigh. “Words, Elio.”

“Bene.” I didn’t really register my shift into Italian, but Oliver didn’t ask me to repeat it in English. I rocked my hips, but Oliver quickly stilled them.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolded with tight hands on my hips. “You just stay nice and still for me.”

“Va bene.” 

Oliver laughed at that and I pouted down at him. “Aw, don’t gimme that face,” he said, just before he snapped his hips up hard and all traces of my pout quickly vanished. “Ah, that’s what you needed, huh?”

I nodded and let out a pitiful little sound. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he cooed. “I have half a mind to tie you up to the bed and leave you there for me to use.”

“Per favore…”

“Don’t tempt me, Elio,” he growled, though I could tell he was teasing. At least partially. He continued to thrust and roll his hips up hard, eliciting from me soft whines and moans of Oliver’s name. I tried to move my hands, tried to get my fingers into Oliver’s chest hair, but his knot was unrelenting. He bucked up particularly hard and I nearly wobbled off and onto the bed. I would have, were it not for Oliver’s tight grip on my hips. 

“Please touch me,” I begged, finally tipping my head down and opening my eyes. Oliver was flushed and sweating, looking up at me as if I were made of the most precious metal, all the while fucking me as if he’d never get another chance to do so.

“I don’t think so,” he grunted out, his thrusts becoming a bit erratic. I could tell he was close. “I wanna come inside you and then suck you off. Want you to come down my throat.” 

His words nearly made me come, but Oliver wrapped one hand around the base of my dick, effectively cutting off my impending orgasm. Just a few thrusts later and Oliver was coming inside me, his cock throbbing as he filled me. I rode him through it, more than happy when Oliver let up his death grip on my hips so that I could roll them. 

“C’mere,” Oliver said after settling back on the bed. He tugged and I whined as his cock slipped out of my ass.

“Oliver, I’m gonna -”

“Shh, just come here. I want you in my mouth.”

I was so desperate, my cock red and straining and pulsing and dripping, that I couldn’t argue. I scrambled up to straddle his chest at just the right angle for Oliver to suck my cock right down his throat. 

“Ah!” I tipped forward a bit, not having my hands for balance, but Oliver gripped my ass cheeks hard, large hands splayed over my tiny frame, his fingertips reaching my lower back. “Oliver, don’t I -” 

But then he circled his tongue over my head and I shivered, my balls drawing up. He opened his eyes and winked at me before sucking me all the way down. He buried his nose into my pubic hair and gagged slightly as I bucked my hips forward. That was all it took for me to come down Oliver’s throat, my hole now stretched and empty and fluttering as I did so. I must’ve blacked out for a moment because the next thing I knew Oliver was untying my wrists and peppering soft kisses along my hip. I squirmed a little where I was sitting on his chest and wrinkled my nose at the wet, sticky feeling.

“Did I miss your mouth?” I asked, voice slurred. 

“Mmh...no.” 

I wiggled again and furrowed my brows, trying to figure out why Oliver’s chest was tacky with - “ _ Oh _ …Oh god, Oliver, I’m so sorry.” I’d tried to warn Oliver, but in my orgasmic haze, I let his come slip from my hole and all over his chest. I moved to sit back on his stomach and looked down to find it coagulated on Oliver’s chest hair. “Fuck…”

“I know. Hot, right?”

“You’re sick,” I accused, dragging my finger through the come on his chest.

“You wanna see something sick?” His words brought a pit to my stomach and I wanted to protest, but I was curious to see what Oliver was going to do. He grabbed my wrist and slowly brought my hand to his mouth, slow enough that I could stop him. But I didn’t. I kept my eyes trained on his come which was covering my fingers as he brought them to his mouth and sucked.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, my cock twitching against my thigh. Oliver smirked around my fingers as he cleaned them off, letting them go with a  _ pop _ once he was done.

“I think we’re gonna need a shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are my lifeblood!! <3 And please [Find Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/) so we can scream about these boys!!! :) My blog is in a bit of a transitional phase, but pls do come scream with me!!! <3


	3. The flowers I for thy temples keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes. I know I keep saying I'm going to start posting more regularly. But this time I MEAN IT (I hope...)  
> More notes on the AIDS Resource Center (Bailey House) at the end

“God, Elio, this is  _ disgusting _ .”

“What is?”

“Your hair clogging up the tub.”

“I can’t help it! My hair is thick!”

“Fine, I’ll give you that. But you can at least make an effort to clean the drain out after you shower.”

“I don’t want to stick my hand down the drain, it’s gross.”

“No, what’s gross is pulling up  _ an entire head of hair _ from the drain every month.”

“Ew! Oliver, get that out of my face!”

“It’s  _ your hair _ , Elio.”

I shoved his hand out of the way, in which he was clutching a huge clump of dark hair. I glowered at the clump and then at Oliver. There was no denying it was mine and I supposed I could work on fishing out a smaller clump after my showers rather than waiting for it to get that bad. But it still irked me.

“Fine,” I finally huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Good. Thanks.” He tossed the clump into the trash and wiped his fingers on his shorts. 

“Sure thing.” I rolled my eyes and shoved past him out of the kitchen, leaving our partially cooked lunch behind.

“Hey!” Oliver called, turning to follow me out. “You’re just gonna leave the food on the stove, then?”

“You bet I am,” I said back, marching straight towards our bedroom. I slammed the door shut and locked it before Oliver could come in. He tried the handle and I breathed a sigh of relief when it didn’t budge.

“Elio, come out please?”

“No.”

“Are you going to come out for lunch?”

“No.”

“Is this about the hair in the drain?”

“No! Leave me alone, please.” There was a heavy pause and my shoulders tensed.

“Alright. Okay, baby. I’m gonna finish making lunch. I’ll save you some.”

I grunted in response and flung myself onto our bed, face down, after I heard Oliver creep away from the door.

I’d been in a shitty mood all week. It seemed like absolutely nothing was going my way. I bombed the first exam of the semester, Oliver was incredibly busy at work, and there was a delay in us starting at the AIDS Resource Center. It had been about two weeks since Mark had suggested we volunteer, and he’d predicted that we’d start within a week. But there we were, two weeks after sending in a volunteer application, and still no word. I was itching to do something, to fill my free time on Fridays with charitable work. 

I missed Daniel. I missed Marzia. I missed my parents.

I groaned and rolled over onto my back, kicking my legs out for a brief moment before settling back down. 

I felt listless and anxious and inert and wired all at once. I wanted to go for a twenty-mile run or take a twenty-hour nap. I wanted to compose or watch TV or play tennis or just relax in Oliver’s arms. I whined and kicked a pillow off the bed. I heard something clatter and lifted my head just briefly to make sure the alarm clock hadn’t exploded into a million pieces before I let my head hang over the side of the bed again. 

I hated feeling unsettled.

I fell asleep, and when I woke next, it was to soft knocks on the bedroom door.

“Elio?” 

I groaned and rubbed my hand over my face. Were my eyes still closed? Maybe I was still dreaming, still asleep. 

“Elio…”

No, it was just dark. Dark? Already? I’d come into the bedroom at 1 pm. I rolled over, my mouth dry, and looked down at the clock that was still on the floor. 8:06 pm.

“Elio, baby, can you please come out? You’ve barely eaten all day. I made cod with salsa verde. I know how much you like that.”

My stomach immediately growled at Oliver’s words. I forced myself up off the bed and actively bypassed the mirror. I knew I probably looked like a wreck, but I definitely didn’t need confirmation. When I opened the door, I blinked against the bright light flooding in.

“Hi,” Oliver said softly. I was looking down at his feet but I could hear the smile in his voice. He ran a hand through my hair and I shivered. 

I sniffled in response and moved past him and into the kitchen My motions were slow and stilted as I placed a piece of cod on my plate.

“C’mere, we can watch TV with dinner,” Oliver offered from the couch. After pouring a glass of water, I shuffled into the living room and sat on the opposite end of the couch, as far from Oliver as possible. He didn’t press it or say anything, which I appreciated. He’d given me space all throughout my shitty afternoon, which I definitely couldn’t fault him for. 

Except I could.

“Why did it take you seven hours to check on me?” I finally asked, voice a little croaky.

Oliver stared at me for what felt like hours but was in actuality about five seconds. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he said slowly. He was clearly afraid of saying the wrong thing.

_ Good _ .

“Well, it  _ bothers me _ that you didn’t.” It didn’t really bother me that much. In fact, I preferred to wallow in my own self-pity alone, but I was in a bad mood and I wanted him to know it.

“Shit...I’m sorry, Elio. C’mere. Please.”

I pushed my food around on my plate before setting it down on the coffee table. I sat there for another second before getting up and stalking back into our bedroom. I came back out a moment later with Oliver’s pillow and the extra blanket from the end of our bed.

“Goodnight,” I said, spinning on my heel and going right back into our bedroom, making sure to lock the door.

I was being dramatic and I knew it. It was unfair of me to take out my frustrations on Oliver, but I couldn’t help myself. I huffed and slid under the covers. It was still early, but I had no desire to do anything. I flopped around in bed for a bit, sighing and punching the pillows over and over in an attempt to get comfortable. 

As I tossed and turned in the too big bed, I came to the realization that I hadn’t slept alone since coming to New York. 

I slept fitfully for a few hours, intermittently waking up sweaty and falling back asleep cold and trembling. Once I forced myself out of bed, it was quarter to three. I padded back out into the living room where Oliver was fast asleep on the couch.

“Oliver,” I called from the end of the couch. I had our duvet wrapped around me like a cape and I shook a little on the spot. “Oliver,” I tried again, a little louder. Still nothing. He always was a heavy sleeper. I sniffled and rubbed the back of my hand over my nose. My eyes filled with inexplicable tears. “Oliver!” That time, my voice wobbled a little and Oliver finally shifted. He groaned and rubbed over his face before fully turning over to look up at me.

“Oh, Elio,” he sighed, throwing the blanket off before standing and gathering me up into his arms. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I managed to get out, hating how I couldn’t hold back my tears. “I’ve been a brat.”

“Only a little,” Oliver conceded with a laugh. He rubbed over my duvet-clad back and kissed the top of my head. “It’s okay, baby, it’s been a busy couple of weeks.”

I nodded and we stood like that for a few more minutes, just wrapped up in one another. “Come back to bed, please?” I asked, winding my fingers into his shirt and tugging.

“I hoped you’d ask.” We went back to the bedroom and Oliver tugged the duvet off my shivering frame so that he could properly put it back on the bed. “Alright,” he said finally as he turned down the top. He arranged our pillows and I climbed into bed, immediately snuggling up against Oliver’s side once he did the same.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” I whispered against his chest.

“Me neither.”

“Shut up,” I teased with a pinch to his side, “you were fast asleep.”

“Okay, maybe I was.” He kissed the top of my head and hugged me a little tighter. “Please talk to me, okay? You don’t have to right now, but I need you to talk to me about what you’re feeling.” 

“Yeah…”

“As much as I wish I could, I can’t read your mind.”

“I know.”

“Okay. Good.” He kissed the top of my head again. “Now sleep. You promised we’d go for bagels tomorrow and you know if we’re not there by 7, the line’s gonna be out the door.”

We finally found out about our applications to volunteer during the last week of September. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was at home studying for an exam on court music from 17th century France. I was in the study, listening to Boesset’s “Cessez ô Divine Beauté” on my headphones, and I was finally startled out of my lute induced haze after the 4th ring. I shoved off my headphones and sprinted to grab the phone in the living room, catching the call on the last ring.

“Pronto.”

“Elio, it’s Mark.”

“Hi! Hi, ciao, sorry, I had my headphones on.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckled. I cradled the phone against my shoulder and sunk into our couch. “Oliver home?” 

“Nope. He’s home around 6 on Wednesdays.”

“Ah. Well, I was just calling about the center.”

I immediately perked up at that. “Oh? Are we - Did they say we could volunteer?”

“Yes, Elio, of course they did. It was clear in your applications how much you want to help the community. Not to mention a glowing recommendation from yours truly,” he teased.

“Dio mio.” I felt lightheaded and I pressed my hand over my heart to find it pounding wildly against my chest. “When -?” I couldn’t even process enough words to finish my question.

“They said you could both start on Friday, 10 am sharp. We’ll discuss a schedule on your first day. Does that sound alright?”

“Yeah,  _ yes _ , Mark, that’s fantastic. Thank you so much.”

“I hope this helps you, Elio,” he said softly. I knew that tone of voice. It was the same one my father used with me from time to time. “I hope giving your time and sharing your love and passion helps bring you closure. But Elio, if you are feeling uncomfortable or afraid or  _ anything _ , you need to tell me or Oliver, okay?”

I nodded but then quickly realized that Mark couldn’t see me. “I will. I promise. But I think…” I took a shaky breath and nodded, feeling like a weight had finally been lifted off my chest for the first time since Daniel died. “I think this’ll be good for me. And Oliver too. For both of us.”

As soon as Oliver was home, I threw myself at him. He was just barely through the door when I launched myself up from the couch and into his arms.

“Oof...hi, baby.”

“I missed you,” I murmured against his neck as I tried to climb up his body. He laughed and set his bag down before wrapping his arms around me and hoisting me up. I easily wrapped my legs around his waist as he walked a bit further into the apartment so that he could push me up against the wall next to the kitchen.

“To what do I owe this warm welcome?”

“Mark called,” I answered as Oliver got to working on kissing my neck. “He said we could start volunteering on Friday.”

Oliver pulled back, absolutely beaming. “Really?” I bit my lower lip and nodded. “Oh, Elio, that’s wonderful.”

“But I want you to know that you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I rushed to say. “I know I kinda threw this opportunity at you and we didn’t really get a chance to talk about -”

Oliver shut me up with a kiss which, in my opinion, was the best way to shut me up. 

We stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in one another, Oliver kissing me slow and gentle as he held me up against the wall.

“I want to,” he whispered as he pulled back. His breath ghosted over my lips as he spoke and I shivered. “I want to be there with you on the ground, right in the middle of this. I want to help our community.” He kissed me again and I decided that we could put off dinner for a little longer.

On Friday, we woke up early enough to grab coffees on our way to the subway. I’d been jittery all morning, eager to see what was in store for us. We arrived at 10 am sharp, and Mark was standing outside of the Greenwich location awaiting our arrival. The first hour was a flurry of completing paperwork and getting our official IDs. Once that was all settled, Mark took us to meet Meredith Brown, a thin silver-haired woman who was in charge of the volunteer program.

“We’ll start with a tour,” Meredith said after introductions. She spun on her heel and began striding down the hall. Oliver and I dutifully followed behind her clacking heels. “We have this location here in Greenwich and second, smaller location in Chelsea. This building is entirely ours -- Chelsea we just have two floors.” She tapped the up button for the ancient elevator and turned to face us again. “I’m sure Mark has told you, but we’re almost through with a major residence on Christopher Street. We have a few construction and interior volunteers there and a steady rotation of volunteers in Chelsea, but we really need the help here.”

The elevator dinged and we all stepped in. Meredith hit the 5th-floor button and the car surged up with a concerning groan.

“How long have you been volunteering with the center?” Oliver asked as we crept up.

“Since its inception,” Meredith answered with a warm smile. “I’ve been friends with Fritz since the early ‘60s.” Fritz Holt was the other founder, along with Reverend Bailey, and I remembered Mark mentioning something about him while we were getting our IDs. “When he told me about this project, I knew I had to be involved. I’m getting on in years, but I’ve come out of retirement to help.” She looked very Upper East Side, very proper, almost reminiscent of Daniel’s mom, but clearly overworked and tired. “We -” The elevator halted before she could continue. “Ah, yes. This is the top floor in our facility. This is our recreation and dining room.” 

The elevator opened into a large room. Half was dedicated to a dining area and the other half was full of couches, armchairs, coffee tables, games, and an ancient TV. There were a few people sat at the dining tables eating a late breakfast and there was a mother with two children playing a board game. She walked us around the floor, going over meal times and the sparse schedule of activities. It went unsaid that the calendar wasn’t full due to the debilitating nature of the disease. 

We then headed to the fourth floor. Floors two through four consisted of patient rooms. The AIDS Resource Center, Meredith told us, was open to anyone with the disease. Most of the patients were young gay men with nowhere else to go, but there were also men, women, and children who had gotten the virus from needles. The fourth floor housed the women and families. Each floor had ten rooms and four shared bathrooms. Floors two and three were dedicated to those from the gay community with the disease, and most rooms had two patients each. As we toured those two floors, Oliver slipped his hand into mine and squeezed. I squeezed back, glad to have him next to me when I heard the tell-tale sound of wet coughing from one of the rooms. 

“Your main duty as volunteers is to push juice carts from room to room. Patients are to be kept hydrated. Jeffrey will train you now that the tour is complete. He’s been here for ages.” Meredith brought us back down to the first floor and to the volunteer resource room. The room was sparse, just a refrigerator, a table, and a closet. Oliver and I were given pale green jackets with wide pockets that resembled scrubs. They had a large patch on the chest that read  _ VOLUNTEER _ in big red letters. We were introduced to Jeffrey, a thin Black man with bleach blond hair, before Meredith scurried away.

“Sorry if she was a little brusque,” Jeffrey said as he buttoned up his volunteer jacket. His Ss and Ts were sillibant and he had a kind smile. “She’s very busy and we’re a bit short on volunteers. Thank  _ God _ you’re here!”

Jeffrey took us back up to the 5th floor and we got a history of his life as we rode up to the elevator. He barely paused to take a breath as he spoke. He was going on 32 in the fall and had moved to New York from San Francisco a year prior after his boyfriend cheated on him. He volunteered in the mornings, worked at a coffee shop from 12-10 pm each day, and was a drag queen by night. 

“Sounds like you do quite a lot,” Oliver laughed as we stepped out of the elevator. He had my hand in his again and I walked as close to him as possible.

“That I do, handsome.” Jeffrey looked back at us over his shoulder and winked as we followed him back to the kitchen. “So what do you do, baby? I want to hear all about Elio Perlman.”

“I uh - I’m from Italy.” Jeffrey let out a gasp at that, clasping his hand over his heart.

“We are to go out for drinks one night and you are to tell me all about it. Italy is the one place I want to go before I perish.”

“He’s from Crema,” Oliver said, grinning down at me. “Nicknamed Heaven, and rightly so.”

I told Jeffrey about my move to New York and my classes and Julliard. I briefly glossed over getting to know Mark through Daniel’s support group.

“We all lose someone sooner or later,” Jeffrey said as he let us into the kitchen. I hadn’t even mentioned Daniel’s death but it must’ve been evident in my voice. “It never gets any easier, but it’s nice to have something to devote my time to. Something that helps my fellow brothers and sisters.” 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” I said, my voice a little faint. Oliver let go of my hand, but quickly wrapped his arm around my shoulder. He squeezed me close and kissed the top of my head.

“And you’re lucky to have  _ that _ tall drink of water. You got a brother?”

Oliver threw his head back and laughed. “I do, but I’m going to venture to say he’s not your type.”

“Ugh, another straight,” Jeffrey sighed dramatically. “Now. Upon arrival, you’ll come up to the kitchen and load up one of these metal carts with cans of juice, Ensure, water, plastic cups, and straws. Ice machines are located on each floor by the stairs. Make sure to completely fill three large buckets with ice. They  _ crave _ it.”

We watched as Jeffrey filled up his cart and we went back down to the second floor to start our rounds.

“Some patients might ask for more. Give them as much as they want. We’re here to make them comfortable.” He rolled the cart down the hall and we followed close behind. “Meredith might have said we’re only here to give them juice but…” He shrugged. “It goes far beyond that. We provide love and support and comfort. They can’t find that anywhere else. That’s why they’re here.”

Our first stop was a room with two patients who were fast asleep. Jeffrey instructed that we were to leave sleeping patients with a bottle of ensure and two cups of juice. He took care of one patient while Oliver and I set up the drinks on the bedside table of the other. They were both too skinny and had dark circles under their sunken eyes. I moved as slowly and quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb them. 

Our next two rooms contained either sleeping or barely-conscious patients. As we entered the fourth room, we were greeted with raucous laughter. There were six men in the room, sitting three to a bed, all playing a boisterous game of rummy on a table that had been dragged between the two beds.

“Jeffrey!” one man cried out, throwing down his hand and messing up the piles on the table. The other groaned now that the game was ruined. “Cállate, pendejos.”

“Alondro, baby, you feeling good?” Jeffrey asked, pressing a kiss to the top of Alondro’s head.

“Eh, más o menos. Who are the new kids?”

“Ah, this is Oliver, and this pretty boy is his boyfriend Elio. He’s from  _ Italy _ .”

We got a cheery welcome from all six men. I smiled and pressed a little closer to Oliver’s side, trying hard not to look like I was hiding. We were introduced to all the men, who were the last patients on that floor. Alondro was wearing a shirt printed with the Puerto Rican flag and was clearly the ringleader of the group. The men chatted with us as we set up a table full of refreshments and cups of ice. I worked quietly, just nodding along and letting Oliver take control of the conversation.

“You’ll get to know them all,” Jeffrey assured after we said our goodbyes and headed towards the elevator. “They’re definitely one of our healthier groups. It’s good they have each other.”

We finished our rounds and by the time we were done, it was 1 pm and time for our break. We were scheduled to work Fridays from 10-3 with a thirty-minute break for lunch. We headed out to a bodega across the street with Jeffrey.

“So how are you feeling about all of this?” 

I stayed quiet, hoping Oliver would answer, but he looked down at me and nudged my side. “Good,” I finally said with a nod as I opened up my sandwich. “A little overwhelmed, but good.” We’d seen a lot on our first day: patients who didn’t look sick at all and those who looked as if they were already dead. It brought back memories of Daniel, of his quick deterioration, and I found myself blinking back tears.

“It gets easier, I promise.” Jeffrey kept his voice low and soothing and I nodded. Oliver dropped his hand onto my thigh under the table. “It’s hard at times, and it fucking sucks to see our brothers like this. But I’ve made such good friends here, Elio, and I think you will too.” I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure if I could lose any more friends.

Our last hour and a half at the center consisted of restocking the industrial refrigerator in the kitchen. Jeffrey blasted music and sang and danced as he worked, even convincing me and Oliver to join in for a few songs.

“I’m usually here from 7-10 am, but I work the same slot as you two darlings on Fridays,” Jeffrey said as we disrobed and headed for the exit. “So I’ll be seeing you next week unless I’ve scared you away.”

“Not at all,” Oliver said as he slid on his sunglasses.

“Fantastic. And you two should come to see my show sometime. Maybe in a few months because that’ll  _ definitely _ scare you away.” He eyed me and rose a brow. “Although, you’d make a fabulous queen, honey.” I flushed and that time I really did hide behind Oliver. “Arrivederci,” he said, kissing both of our cheeks.

“So,” Oliver said once we parted ways with Jeffrey. “How are you feeling?” I nodded, even though I knew that wasn’t a good enough answer. “Words, baby. How’re you feeling?”

“It’s a lot,” I said, leaning heavily against Oliver. We were waiting for the subway and the air on the platform was hot and sticky. Nevertheless, Oliver wrapped his arm around my waist. “And I’m afraid,” I admitted. “Afraid for all of those men. But I - I want to help them.” It was a lot to process, and I still hadn’t entirely wrapped my head around it yet.

“Me too.”

“Thanks for doing this with me.”

“Wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

I looked up at Oliver as the train came rushing down the tracks, bringing with it a rush of cool air.

“Love you.”

“I love you too.”

We stepped onto the train and I sat down. Oliver stood in front of me, towering over me, blocking and protecting me from other passengers. I looked up at him from my perch. 

“Even though I leave my hair in the drain?”

“Yes, Elio,” Oliver laughed. “You could shave your head and leave every last strand in the drain and I’d  _ still _ love you.”

“Good.”

_ Never stop loving me, Oliver. Never leave me, Oliver. Oliver, Oliver, Oliver... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bailey House is a charity based in New York that provides supportive housing for people living with HIV and AIDS. Bailey House was established in 1983 with just a few apartments in Chelsea and Greenwich Village. It was initially called the AIDS Resource Center. In 1986, Bailey-Holt House was opened as the first American congregate residence for people living with AIDS. In 1995, the name AIDS Resource Center was officially changed to Bailey-Holt House in honor of its founders, Reverend Mead Miner Bailey and Fritz Holt.
> 
> Taking a bit of liberty with locations as I can't find too much history on exact locations/buildings in the mid '80s.
> 
> I love all comments, love, criticisms, etc. You can [Find Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/) so we can scream about these boys!!


	4. Infinite riches in a little room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I AM SORRY for the delay. I feel like the first few chapters have been mostly for expository purposes, but I'm actually going to start getting into the real meat of Part II in the next chapters :)

“Hey, can we go out with your friends for Halloween this year?” I asked as Oliver handed me my admissions pin at the Met. It was a Saturday morning in mid-October and I had realized a week prior that we didn’t have any plans yet. We’d gone out with Daniel the year before and I wasn’t sure if I could handle another gay club on Halloween. I also wanted to spend more time with Oliver’s friends, and it felt like the perfect opportunity.

“Sure,” he laughed as we headed over to the Greek and Roman wing, which we usually did before going to any special exhibits.

“And we can do costumes this year?”

“Of course we can.” We stopped in front of a marble head. “I like this one,” he commented, tilting his head to the side.  
  
“I can tell. You make us look at it for forever every time we’re here. It’s just a head.”

“It reminds me of you.”

I wrinkled my nose and leaned in closer to study the chipped marble. “Really?”

“Mmhm. The hair. And the lips.” I was now standing on the other side of the head and we peered at each other from around the marble. “That’s what they look like after I’ve kissed you for a few hours.”

“I want to find one that looks like you.” Oliver barked out a laugh at my demand and we continued walking.

“That’ll be hard considering I’m not Greek...nor am I Roman.” He winked down at me. I glowered back. “What?”

“I’m  _not_  Roman,” I said indignantly, although I didn’t actually take any offense to that.

“Oooh right, I’m sorry.  _Milanese_.”

“Grazie.”

“Prego.”

We continued to walk around the sculpture gallery, which I did love as I found new minute details in the unchanging marble on each visit.

“So who are you going to be?” Oliver asked from across the otherwise empty gallery as I studied Canova’s Venus.

“Excuse me?” I glanced up at him before looking back at the way Venus clutched her robe against her breast. Oliver came up behind me and rested his hand on my lower back.

“Her thighs are beautiful. Supple.” We stood in silence for just a second, both staring at the smooth expanse of her flank before Oliver continued. “For Halloween, I mean. Who will you dress up as? Or what?”

“Let me guess,” I drawled, clasping my hands behind my back and kicking my feet out as we went on our way. “You want to go as Indiana Jones.” We had watched  _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ and  _Temple of Doom_ so many times that the VHS tapes were starting to get wonky. And so many times that Oliver would mouth along with all of Harrison Ford’s lines. I glanced over at Oliver who was blushing all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“I do no-”

“No point in denying it, Oliver,” I singsonged. He huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Well, you  _would_ make a good Marion.”

“Absolutely not,” I shot right back, although I knew he was teasing. “But I approve of this costume just as long as you promise to put that whip to good use.”

“Elio!”

“What? We’re alone.”

“Diavolo.”

“Mmmh...your pronunciation is off on that one. I think you mean  _tesoro_ ,” I corrected, smug smile perfectly in place.

“Back to my original question,” Oliver prompted with a nudge to my side.

“I dunno, I haven’t given it much thought really.” We crossed the threshold into Medieval Art and I pouted when I found we were no longer alone.

“How about a Medieval king?” Oliver teased as we stood in front of a tapestry.

“Oliver…”

“Sorry, sorry.”

The next morning I stood in front of the mirror in our bathroom, examining my face as the shower warmed up. I brushed my fingers over my chin and sighed. I didn’t have to shave often -- my facial hair grew in small, sparse patches mostly on my upper lip and chin. I had a faint dusting of hair on my upper lip and I turned on the faucet, figuring I’d shave quickly. And that was when it hit me. I grinned at my reflection and turned off the tap, forgoing my razor for the now warm shower.

“Can you  _please_ come back to bed?” Oliver groaned when I came back into our bedroom. I laughed and tossed my towel onto the floor as I got back under the covers. I pressed up against his back and he huffed. “You’re still wet.”

“ _You_  were the one who asked me to get back into bed.” He hummed and I kissed over his bare back. “I know who I’m gonna be for Halloween.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Poe.”

Oliver rolled over and leveled me with a questioning stare. “What made you come up with that?”

I pouted and sighed. “See?” I asked, moving a bit closer so that my lip was right in front of his eyes.

“See what?”

“My mustache!”

Oliver burst out laughing at that and I sat back on my heels, unashamed of my nakedness as the sheets fell off of me. I pouted at Oliver and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Mustache? Baby, what mustache?”

“The one on my face!”

“You've got peach fuzz at best, Elio.”

“Yeah, well...I'm gonna grow it in.”

“And how much is realistically gonna grow in over the next, what? Two and a half weeks?”

“I dunno...a lot!”

Oliver snorted and shook his head. “Alright, whatever you say.” He brushed his fingers over my thigh. “Now can you come back here?”

“No, you’re being mean.”

“I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to patronize.”

I rolled my eyes and slithered off the bed. “I’m gonna make breakfast.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. I’ll call you when the coffee is ready.” I dressed in boxers and a tee shirt before heading to the kitchen to set about preparing our breakfasts. I prepared two cups of coffee and placed two bowls on the table. “Oliver,” I called, “breakfast!”

He came out, hair still mussed from sleep, and dressed only in sweatpants. He plopped down at the table and picked up the fork at his place only to find that his bowl was empty. He looked up at me with furrowed brows just as I came out of the kitchen. I grinned wickedly as I placed a plate with a halved and peeled grapefruit on the table. I stepped around his chair and leaned over the back so that my arms were around him and my fingers were working in front of him over the bowl.

“To ease each pale pink section out of its case so carefully...without breaking a single pearly cell…” I began segmenting the grapefruit and I spoke right against Oliver’s ear, my voice soft and lazy. “To slide each piece into a cold blue china bowl...the juice pooling...until the whole fruit is divided from its skin…” I picked up a piece of the fruit and held it to Oliver’s lips. “And only then to eat...so sweet…” He took the fruit as well as the tips of my fingers into his mouth. “A discipline precisely pointless...a devout involvement of the hands and senses...a pause...a little emptiness…” Oliver chased my fingers but I pulled away too quickly. “ _Meditation on a Grapefruit_ by Craig Arnold,” I clarified as I sat in my own chair.

“Elio,” he breathed, eyes heavy-lidded. I smiled as I took in his disheveled appearance, chest rising and falling rapidly, gooseflesh over his neck, the slight tent in his sweats.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Elio…”

“Eat your breakfast, Oliver. Don’t let your coffee go cold.”

Our little game continued throughout the day, teasing one another until we were just on the cusp of dragging the other back to bed, but stopping just before it got too far. Finally, around 4, Oliver tried to tug me back into the bedroom.

“C’mon, let’s end this,” he begged, coming up behind me as I cleaned and reorganized our bathroom cabinet. After I spent a good hour whispering obscenities in Italian against his ear as we watched TV, I left him on the couch in a haze. It took him another twenty minutes to actually get up and find me.

“Nope,” I said, shrugging his hand off my shoulder. I caught his pout in the mirror when I looked up and couldn’t help but smirk. He wrapped his arms around my waist and started kissing over my shoulders, which  _almost_ made me lean back against him and give in. “Oliver,” I said sharply instead, “I said no.”

He pulled back, eyes wide. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, you were just being mean earlier.”

“Mean?” He furrowed his brows and put his hands back on my hips.

“Yes. About my mustache.”

“Oh, baby,” Oliver sighed, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

I knew he didn’t, and I knew I was being overly dramatic, but it was fun to do every so often. “Can you go make dinner, please? I’m going to finish up in here and I want to eat by 5:30 so we can watch a movie before bed. I’ve got class early tomorrow.”

Oliver prepared a beautiful meal of pork loin with a cherry vinaigrette with a side of vegetables we’d picked up at the farmer’s market near the AIDS Resource Center the Friday before. He paired our dinner with a Pinot Noir from a vineyard in Oregon. It was a bottle we’d been saving for a special occasion as it had been an end of year gift from the head of Oliver’s department.

“Thank you,” I said, looking up at Oliver with big doe eyes as he poured me a glass.

“You’re welcome, my goose.” He kissed the top of my head and ruffled my hair before taking his own seat. We watched _Back to the Future_ after dinner. Grant had loaned us his VHS and had been pestering us to watch it since we got back from Crema.

“That was fun,” I said with a yawn as Oliver set about rewinding the tape. I began humming the Huey Lewis tune featured in the movie as I went about my nightly routines. Oliver came to bed a few minutes after I’d crawled under the covers.

“You finally gonna let me fuck you?” Oliver asked into the darkness.

I hummed and wiggled into his embrace. “I told you. I have an early class tomorrow.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Shh, I’m sleeping.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And you? Do you love me?”

“I do.”

I woke up the next morning to Oliver’s boxer-clad cock pressed against my lower back. I grinned wickedly into my pillow and very gently pushed Oliver onto his back. I settled on my stomach between his thighs, moving very slowly so as not to wake him. I began my pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the head of Oliver’s cock, letting my warm breath dampen the fabric of his boxers.

“Oliver,” I finally murmured after a few minutes of memorizing the smell and feel of Oliver. I ran my hands up and down his thighs which finally caused him to stir. “You’re very hard.”

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

“Mmhm, I am.” I pulled Oliver’s cock out through the slit in his boxers and lapped from base to tip. “I love the way you smell here,” I said, burying my nose into his pubic hair and inhaling. “And I love the way you taste here.” I lifted my head and sucked at the tip, groaning as a drop of pre-come landed on my tongue.

“Elio,” he sighed, reaching down to pet my hair. I cut to the chase at that, greedily sucking him down and burying my nose in his pubic hair again, this time with the tip of his cock at the back of my throat. “God, baby, you’re killing me.”

I slurped a bit as I pulled my head up and ran my tongue around the head. I didn’t usually make an effort to be sloppy, but I sunk my lips down to the base again, effectively choking myself on Oliver’s cock. I couldn’t help the spit trailing down my chin and it only got messier when Oliver came suddenly, shooting hard against the back of my throat. I gagged a little and some of his semen ended up dribbling down my chin.

“Morning,” I croaked as I pulled off, panting and looking up at Oliver with a satisfied smile.

“Come here,” he said, tugging my hair a bit. “You’re a mess.”

I let Oliver pull me up and I whined as he licked up the come on my chin and then kissed me, his own semen still on his tongue.

“Sorry I was being bratty yesterday.”

“If that’s how you apologize, you can be bratty all you want.”

I rolled my eyes and smacked his chest, kissing him once more before getting out of bed.

The next Friday, I ran into Jeffrey in the bathroom at the Resource Center.

“Sorry I’m a bit late today,” he said as I turned from the urinal to wash my hands. He was standing in front of the mirror, applying concealer under his eyes.

“That’s alright, Oliver’s already loading up the cart.” I smiled at his reflection. “Fun night?”

He uncapped his eyeliner with a pop. “Very.” I watched, a bit transfixed, as he applied the dark liner to his lash line.

“Hey,” I said after he finished his left eye. “Do you think you could tell me where to get some of that?”

He pulled back from the mirror and smirked at me. “Interested in a drag persona?”

I flushed and shook my head. “Oh, uh. No, I just…” My blush deepened. “I’m going as Edgar Allan Poe for Halloween,” I admitted.

“Ah, is that what the mustache is all about?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, brushing my fingers over the few hairs on my upper lip.

“Here.” He finished up with his eyeliner and turned to me. “I bestow this upon you, but let me show you how first.” I turned to face him and tried not to flinch as he moved the pencil over my waterline. He smudged it a little with his fingers, explaining what he was doing in hushed words. “Alright,” he finally said, turning me so that I was facing the mirror again.

“Oh wow…” I leaned forward to peer at my reflection, a bit taken aback at how shockingly green my eyes looked with the addition of the eyeliner.

“I’d say really play it up for Poe,” Jeffrey said as he recapped the liner. He handed it to me and I took it with a dumbfounded expression. “Add more, really smudge it.” He smiled and ran his thumb over my sparse mustache. “And you can use it to fill in here.”

“Thanks,” I breathed, stowing the pencil in my pocket.  We headed up to the kitchen together to find Oliver just wheeling the cart towards the elevator.

“What took so long? I’ve bee-” He stopped short as he looked up and caught my gaze. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Jeffrey laughed, light and airy, as Oliver looked me over. “He looks pretty, huh?”

“It’s just a little eyeliner,” I said with a shrug, although I _did_ bat my lashes when Oliver licked his lips.

“Come, darlings,” Jeffrey interrupted before Oliver could pounce, “there’s work to be done.”

On Halloween, we had plans to meet Oliver’s friends at the Cat Club. Amanda and Pat had declined our offer to tag along, as they were bringing Kate up to Pat’s parents’ house upstate. Michael, Grant, David, Debs, and Sharon would all be in attendance and I was giddy with excitement.

“Do you think Grant is dating the same girl he was last week?” I asked from the bathroom where I was dutifully gelling my hair into place. I smiled when Oliver barked back a laugh from the bedroom.

“Probably not. And Sharon is bringing James.”

“Shit, right. James.” I repeated the name a few times in my head, hoping I wouldn’t forget Sharon’s fiance’s name. I heard the floorboards creak and I quickly slammed the bathroom door shut.

“Hey!”

“No peeking!”

“Fine.” Oliver huffed and shuffled off, which made me smile. He was probably already dressed and ready to go; he’d been so eager to put on his costume all day. I turned back to my reflection and took a deep breath before uncapping the eyeliner that Jeffrey had given me.

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered as I put the pencil against my waterline. It took me a good thirty minutes to finally get the eyeliner right on my eyes, and another ten to fill in my mustache with the pencil. I pulled back and cocked my head at my appearance. My eyes looked sunken and my mustache looked thick. I parted my hair deep to one side and had gelled it into whispy pieces. I took a deep breath as I tied a torn up piece of cheesecloth around my neck under the collar of my shirt. I nodded and buttoned up my suit jacket. “Right. Poe. King of Halloween.” I opened up the door slowly and tiptoed out, peeking around the corner to find Oliver on the couch with some scary movie on the TV. “How do I look?”

Oliver’s feet dropped off the table and he stood up so fast he almost fell over. I could see the breath hitch in his throat when he caught sight of me and I flushed. “Damn.”

“Do I look stupid?”

“No. God, no.  _Fuck_  no, Elio, you look incredible.”

“So do you,” I laughed, Oliver’s halfway unbuttoned khaki shirt and leather jacket not going unnoticed. “You’ve got the hat and whip, right?”

“Mmh. On the table.” Oliver was slowly walking towards me, eyes still racking over me.

“You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it when you look this good.”

“Good? Oliver, I’m supposed to be a dead poet.”

“Yeah, but your  _eyes_.” He stopped right in front of me and cupped my cheek. “Damn, you look good, baby.”

“I thought nothing was supposed to shock Indiana Jones,” I murmured, reaching up to hold onto the lapels of Oliver’s shirt. Before I knew it, I was pushed up against the wall with Oliver kissing me within an inch of my life.

“We gotta go,” I whined when Oliver started in on my neck. He pulled back and burst out laughing. “What?” I asked, pouting.

“Your mustache got smudged.” He dragged his thumb over the corner of my lip. “There. Better.” I rolled my eyes and pecked Oliver’s cheek before gently pushing him away. “Get your whip, Indy. We gotta catch a cab now or else we’re gonna be late.”

We met our crew outside of a club on the Lower East Side. Sharon and James had decided to spend the night in, so we were with Debs and the boys.

“We used to come here all the time in undergrad,” Michael told me as we got on the end of the entry line. He was dressed as Rambo, with a plastic machine gun strapped to his bare (and chiseled) chest.

I rose my brow and nudged Oliver. “Really? You never told me that?”

“Ha! Ollie never told you about his most frequented haunt?”

“No,” Oliver said quickly, unable to hide his blush from my prying eyes.

“Oh? Any sordid details you’re willing to share?” Before Oliver could answer, Grant jumped in.

“Remember when we came in like, a total blizzard, and you wiped out on the ice.”

“Yeah, I’m never gonna forget that. I broke my nose that night.”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah, and he didn’t go to the hospital until the next morning because he was too drunk to realize how bad it was. So he spent all night dancing with blood all over his face.”

“Wait, wait, David.” David turned around at Grant’s call. “Were you with us when Oliver tried to get that chick to come home with him?”

David snorted and rolled his eyes. “Which one?”

“The one freshman year. The first time we came.”

“I was there!” Debs piped in. “We’d just started going out.”

“That’s right!” Grant said, slinging his arm over my shoulder. “Picture it: Debs and I are on our like, second date -”

“It was our fourth, actually.” I grinned at Debs’ response, loving how at ease they were with each other despite having broken up after dating for all of their time at college.

“Right, fourth. Anyways, Oliver gets drunk off his ass and starts hitting on this girl. Keep in mind, he’s a  _freshman_  in college. She had to be, what, Oliver? Thirty?”

Oliver huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, don’t do this, guys.”

“No, by all means," I piped up, a huge smile on my face. “Keep going.”

“She was hot as hell,” David said, a wistful look in his eyes.

“Yeah, smokin’ and thirty,” Michael laughed, nudging Oliver’s side, “a perfect target for our little Ollie.” The image of 17-year-old Oliver trying to hit on an older buxom blonde made me giggle.

“He was all over her,” Grant said with a lascivious grin. “Pawing at her, practically begging her to come home. To a fucking dorm room nonetheless.” He tossed his head back and laughed. “What was that horrible line he used?”

They all chorused with Oliver’s line: “I’ve lost my virginity, can I have yours?”

“And the sad part is,” Grant continued, laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes, “Oliver was still a virgin himself.”

“Jesus Christ, guys,” Oliver groaned, hanging his head and trying to hide his bright red cheeks. Lucky for Oliver, the line began to move and we were all herded into the club. The music was loud and pulsing which drowned out the others’ conversation as we walked in. I pressed close against Oliver, as close as I could without raising suspicion, and grinned at him.

“That virgin line would have worked on me, you know,” I said, knocking his shoulder with mine.

“Let’s never speak of this again,” he pleaded.

I wished I could have agreed to his request, but I decided there was nothing more I loved than embarrassing stories about Oliver during his time at NYU.

The Cat Club ended up being the perfect place for our Halloween festivities: the drinks were cheap, the DJ was fantastic, and the dancefloor was packed. By the time we all stumbled out, it was after 4 am.

“Mustache,” Oliver slurred as we stepped out of the dark club and onto the sidewalk. I furrowed my brows and looked up at him, but I had to close one eye to focus on his face. He laughed and wiped at my upper lip with a napkin that he seemingly produced out of thin air.

“C’mon lovebirds,” Debs said, squeezing between us and wrapping her arms around our waists. “We’re starving.” She had dressed as a cat, but her ears somehow ended up on Grant’s head, which definitely added an interesting touch to his pirate costume. We all ambled down a few blocks to a 24-hour diner. We smooshed into a booth with me, Oliver, and Debs on one side and the guys on the other.

“Shocked no one decided to pick you up,” Grant teased as Michael set his plastic gun on the table.

“Honestly,” he said, glaring at Grant, “I am too. This costume is fuckin’ awesome.”

“Costume is a bit of a reach,” Oliver said over the rim of his water glass. “It’s black pants and a gun.”

“Hey!” Michael gestured up at his shaggy hair. “Don’t forget about the mane.” Oliver just snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Look,” David said, nodding over at the door. I craned my neck and spotted a bunch of kids about my age coming in, all wearing NYU sweatshirts. “Poor suckers were probably studying all night.” I blushed and looked down at the Formica table, feeling, for the first time in a long while, quite young. Oliver must have sensed my change in disposition and he dropped a hand to my thigh under the table.

“Better than I was in college, that’s for sure,” Grant sighed, shaking his head.

“I think you speak for all of us when you say that.” Oliver’s voice was soft and amused and I could help but roll my head onto his shoulder.

“Am I boring?” I asked, my head spinning with the number of drinks I imbibed, all sense of a filter totally gone.

“Absolutely not.” Debs nudged my arm and I cracked open an eye to glance at her. “And you get Oliver out, which is a fucking miracle.”

“Really?”

“Ah, yes, young padawan,” Grant sighed. “Oliver’s crazy years only lasted until a year after college. And then he was Mr. Serious-PhD-Candidate.”

“I find that hard to believe.” I thought back to that time we went out in Crema, Oliver totally letting loose on the dancefloor with Chiara. That had only been two years ago. “Shoulda seen him dancing in Italy.”

Michael gasped. “I totally forgot. You saw Oliver totally uninhibited in a foreign country. You must be a wealth of embarrassing Ollie stories.”

“Mmmh...not really.” I closed my eyes again and shrugged, my head still on Oliver’s shoulder. He squeezed my knee under the table. “He danced with one of my friends at a party. Psychedelic Furs.” I began humming “Love My Way.”

“Damn, that song always gets him going.”

“He was l'americano,” I said, waving my hand in the air. “Full of intrigue and mystery with his ‘Later!’ and Chiara was so... _disperata_.” That got a round of laughter.

Oliver turned his head so that his nose was buried in my hair and I smiled at how open he was being. “Hey, so were you,” he accused, voice soft and just for me.

“I won in the end. Il vincitore. Take that, Chiara.”

“So when are you bringing your Italian friends to New York?” Grant asked, amusement clear in his voice.

“When I do, I’m not introducing them to any of you lot. They’re far too cultured for your horny asses.” They laughed again and I beamed, proud of myself for integrating into Oliver’s friend group.

By the time we finished our late night snack, we’d sobered up considerably, but that didn’t stop me from practically mauling Oliver in the back of the cab on our way home.

“You in that hat,” I growled against his throat. I was nearly on his lap, Oliver’s hands on my shoulders the only thing keeping me at bay. “And the shirt and the whip and the  _boots_ , Oliver.” I couldn’t hide the need and want in my voice.

“Almost home, Elio,” Oliver cooed with a squeeze to my shoulders.

As soon as we were in our apartment, I pounced. The sun was just coming up, casting the rooms in a soft orange glow.

“Baby, we gotta be up soon to get to the center tomorrow,” Oliver warned.

“Don’t care,” I panted, clawing at my clothes in an attempt to get them off as fast as possible. “Need you. I need you so bad.” Oliver began unbuttoning his shirt and I keened, forgetting about my own clothes and reaching out to grab onto Oliver’s wrists. “No, keep it on.” We stared at each other for a beat. I was already half naked, my pants and boxers around my ankles and my shirt partway unbuttoned.

“Yeah,” Oliver finally breathed, moving so that he could finish taking off my shirt. “Yeah, I got you, baby.” Once I was finally naked, Oliver nudged me towards the bedroom, still fully clothed. “You sure -” He started as I rummaged through the bedside table drawer for the lube.

“Keep ‘em on,” I interrupted, turning to Oliver with the lube in my hand. I knew I must’ve looked a mess, with my eyeliner smudged and my hair an absolute wreck. “The hat, too.”

“Fuck.” Oliver grabbed the lube out of my hand and spun me around so that my front was pressed up against the window. He made quick work of opening me up on his fingers, and in no time I was fucking myself back on them.

“Now, Oliver, please, I need you inside me.” He pressed in just a moment later, and I pressed my forehead to the cool glass of the window. The street below was bathed in a sodium lamp orange as the sun came up. I cried out, arching my back as Oliver bottomed out. He was pressed completely against me and I could feel the buttons of his shirt and pants digging into my bare skin. I rolled my hips and whined at the feeling. Oliver must’ve only unzipped them enough to pull his cock out.

“Yeah, you like that, baby?” he asked, wrapping his strong hands around my sides. I groaned and nodded, my forehead now slick with sweat and slipping against the window. 

“Hard, Oliver. Need it. Need you to be mine.” All that talk of Oliver picking up women at clubs had me desperate for the feel of him.

“All yours, Elio.” His voice was low and reassuring against my ear as he rocked his hips. “Gonna come inside you. Then I’m gonna suck you off. Make you shake as I swallow you all down.” My knees buckled and I nearly collapsed, but Oliver’s grip on my sides tightened. “Yeah, you like that, Elio?”

“Y-Yes, Oliver.  _Oliver_.” He snapped his hips forward hard and was filling me up just a few moments later. I loved feeling him come, cock throbbing as he spilled inside me, marking me and claiming me and filling me.

Just as soon as he stopped trembling, Oliver pulled out and spun me around so that my back was pressed against the fogged-up window. He sunk to his knees and wallowed me down so that the head of my cock was at the back of his throat. I knocked the hat off his head, my fingers easily sinking into his hair. Despite our night of dancing and even though he had a hat on the entire night, his hair was still as soft as ever. I wound my fingers into the thick strands at the top of his head and tugged hard as Oliver swallowed around me. My hips bucked on their own accord and I came, hard and sudden. Oliver made an appreciative sound as my come hit the back of his throat. He pulled back once I was shivering, far too over sensitive, and began pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to my hips.

“You’re the only one for me, Elio,” he whispered against my damp skin. “No matter who I took home in college.”

“Or  _attempted_ to take home,” I corrected, still breathless from my orgasm. “Would you have used those lines on me?”

“I believe I did use a pretty good line,” he said, still kissing over my tummy and hips. My eyes fluttered open and I looked down at him. He met my eyes and raised a brow. “'Trust me...I’m about to be a doctor.'” Oliver's words from two summers ago brought back a faint warmth to my shoulders where he'd squeezed and massaged my shoulders.

I snorted and tugged hard at his hair. He hummed and went back to kissing my tummy. “You’ve got game, Dr. Stern.” I knew it would just stroke his ego.

“I do it for the fortune and glory, kid.” I rolled my eyes as Oliver put on his Harrison Ford voice. “Fortune and glory.” He stood and captured my lips and I chased the taste of myself on his tongue.

“Am I your fortune and glory, then?”

“Of course you are.”

I preened at that, arching my back, puffing my chest, and holding my chin a little higher.

“And I’m gonna treasure you forever, Elio.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated!!!! :D <3 You can [Find Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/) so we can scream about these boys!!
> 
>  
> 
> [Head of an Athlete](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/211504?sortBy=Relevance&where=Rome&ft=female+marble+statue&offset=0&rpp=20&pos=7)
> 
>  
> 
> [Canova’s Venus](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/248579)
> 
>  
> 
> [Meditation on a Grapefruit poem by Craig Arnold](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/52980/meditation-on-a-grapefruit)
> 
>  
> 
> [Elio's Halloween Costume](https://www.flickr.com/photos/madamamoothia/1794624728/)


	5. Seize the short joys then, ere they vade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologize that I didn't publish in my (self-proclaimed) 10-day limit lol. I hope you enjoy the chapter!! 
> 
> Elio plays [This Song](https://youtu.be/L47SRue0gt8) if you're looking for something to listen to while reading!

Once November rolled around, I finally felt more at ease at the center. The patients who had some semblance of their surroundings knew me and Oliver by name and Oliver sometimes joined in on Alondro’s games of rummy. I enjoyed my duties, even though they were simple, because I knew I was helping those in my community who needed it most. 

The patients craved ice. They needed it to cool their fevers and soothe their parched throats. Several times a day we would have to go back up to the kitchen to refill our buckets with as much ice as we could carry. Sometimes, Oliver and I would make more than two rounds and continue filling the patients' cups with cubes. You’d have thought from their gratitude that I was handing out diamonds.

Every Friday, I returned home from the center trying to process what I had just witnessed: a dead body left on a gurney in front of the elevator. A patient with dementia urinating in the hallway. Some patients had so much white thrush in their mouths that they looked like mad dogs. I learned to be careful entering rooms. A few times I had to quietly back out when I’d hear a soothing voice say to a patient, “It’s okay to let go now.”

The Sisters of St. Gregory, an Episcopal order, offered their time at the center as well. They came every other Wednesday and Friday. The nuns who came to visit patients were full of cheer and positive energy and they never judged anyone. Although, I caught one discreetly looking the other way after a patient offered her a slice of his birthday cake, which was in the shape of a phallus.

The colder weather brought along with it my ache for our December holiday. Oliver and I both had 3 full weeks off from school and we were looking forward to spending some quality time together. We’d briefly flirted with the idea of going on a trip to San Francisco or up to Canada, but we were so inundated with work that we opted to cozy up with each other in our apartment. The thought of three blissful weeks alone with Oliver with no commitments or schoolwork was what propelled me through to Thanksgiving. We at least had the week off, which I was thankful for, as my final exams were the second week of December. 

Pat and Amanda had invited us to their apartment for Thanksgiving day, but we decided to spend Thanksgiving at the center. They were hosting a big Thanksgiving dinner for patients and their family and friends, and there was a desperate need for volunteers. Of course, Oliver and I were the first to sign up. 

We spent the first day of our short respite cleaning our apartment. We’d kind of let our cleanliness go with how busy we were the last week before break. Oliver had been busy with grading papers and I was practicing non-stop for my end of semester showcase, which was taking place the week after Thanksgiving. I wanted to get all of my work done prior to our Thanksgiving week off so that I didn’t have to think about school for even a second.

On Thanksgiving Day, Oliver and I arrived at the center at 8:00 am sharp to help prepare that afternoon’s feast. Most of the patients couldn’t stomach much food, but the center wanted to make sure to provide a bountiful meal, as it would probably be some patients’ last holiday. 

Oliver, who came prepared with a family recipe, was put in charge of the stuffing. I was put in charge of preparing all of the vegetable sides. The morning flew by in a flurry of chopping, sautéing, dicing, and roasting. Soon, the entire industrial kitchen was filled with the familiar and comforting smells of Thanksgiving dinner. Meredith, Mark and his partner, and a handful of other volunteers also worked with us in the kitchen until 4 pm when all of the patients took their seats in the dining hall. We’d pushed the tables together to form two large tables that filled up nearly the entire space so that we could all sit together. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Reverend Bailey said after we’d settled everyone between the two tables. He was the founder of the center and was always roaming the halls. It was as if a living god walked among us. He brought light wherever he went, putting a smile on even the sickest patients’ faces. “We all have quite a lot to be thankful for this holiday season.” At that, I squeezed Oliver’s hand just as he kissed my temple. “I, for one, am thankful I get to share this meal with all of you today. And now, I would like my dear friend, Reverend Mark, to give our blessing.” 

Mark stood up and shook Reverend Bailey’s hand before clasping his hands in front of him and bowing his head. I bowed my head as well and closed my eyes. “Dear Heavenly Father, I ask you to bless all of us here today. We give thanks to you for providing us with such a wonderful feast and we thank you even more for the blessed hands that prepared it. Amen.” There was a round of murmurs and a short pause before everyone sprung into action. Mark usually kept his blessings short at the center, as not every patient was necessarily religious.

As soon as Mark was seated again, the volunteers jumped up and began dolling out portions of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and string beans, all doused in a healthy pour of gravy, of course. Once Oliver and I finally sat down, a few of our tablemates were already on their second plate of food. The happy din of conversation filled the dining hall and I couldn’t keep from smiling. Everyone around us was in jovial spirits, their illness forgotten for just a few short hours. 

“I think Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday,” I decided as we waited for the subway. It was nearly 1 am. Despite a new round of volunteers coming to help clean up, Oliver and I decided to stay as well. Mainly to help, but also so that we could occasionally pick at the leftovers.

Oliver laughed and squeezed my hand. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“It’s nice to be together.” I leaned against him and rested my head on his shoulder. I loved being in the West Village and having the opportunity to be more open with Oliver. The train rushed into the station, bringing with it a blast of warm, repugnant air. I wrinkled my nose and followed Oliver onto the train. He sat down in one of the seats, but I opted to stand in front of him.

“Sit,” he beckoned, patting the empty spot next to him. I looked down at him and shook my head.

“Far too full to sit.” I grabbed onto the pole just as the train lurched forward. Oliver laughed and reached out, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me a little closer so that I was standing between his legs. 

“I think you put on twenty pounds in a single sitting,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss over my distended belly. I blushed and carded the fingers of my free hand through his hair.

“Oliver, don-”

“We’re alone,” he interrupted. I looked down the car only to find a lone older woman sitting at the far end of the train car. She paid us no mind, fully invested in her book. Before I could argue again, Oliver raked up the hem of my shirt a bit so that he could kiss over my bare skin. I yelped but quickly bit my lower lip to keep myself quiet. He ran his hands up and down my sides and I shivered, loving how he could envelop my entire waist in his grasp.

“ ‘m thankful for you,” I whispered. I tugged the hair at the top of his head, signaling that I wanted him to look up at me. He did, and my breath stuttered at his brilliant smile.

“No,” he said, putting my shirt back in place and then rubbing his palm over my tummy, “you’re thankful for stuffing.” I groaned and flicked his ear but he just leaned in to kiss my stomach again. “My little stuffed Butterball turkey.” He began massaging my tummy and I hummed, glad for the relief to my fullness.

The rest of Thanksgiving break went far too fast for my liking, and I was soon back at school. I had one week of classes, my end of semester performance, and one week of final exams before I was off for a full and lengthy three weeks. All second-year piano students’ end of semester performances were open to the public and scheduled for each night of the week. I was required to attend each performance as well as play at my own, of course. Professor Kuznetsov scheduled my performance for Friday at 8 pm. This was the ideal slot, as music lovers tended to attend events held on Fridays and Saturdays. My other classmates were asked to play fifteen-minute pieces and there were two performances scheduled per night; however, I was required to play for thirty minutes and I was the sole performer for Friday’s showcase. Professor Kuznetsov claimed that it was because we had an odd number of students in the program. But was clear that this was because I was the favorite of the class. I had a problem verbally admitting that, but it seemed that Oliver bragged about me any chance he got. He would constantly rave about my talents at the center, and Mark was eager to get a piano in the recreation room so that I could play.

The night of my performance, Oliver took me for an early dinner near Juilliard. We had only a glass of wine and a few appetizers split between us. I was required to arrive an hour early to Juilliard’s concert hall, and Oliver decided to come with me. He came prepared with a book to read as I fiddled around with the height of the piano bench and ran through a few scales and arpeggios to warm up.

“I’m going to get dressed,” I said from the stage, looking out to Oliver who was seated in the front row. I wrinkled my nose. “You’re not going to sit right there during the show, are you?”

“I was planning on it.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little...gauche? Contrived?”

“How about the third row?”

“Fine. Third row is fine.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, but moved at my request. The lighting technicians were starting to switch on the correct overheads, and I knew then that I only had about twenty minutes before the other rows started filling up. I headed backstage, where I donned my tux and tousled my hair in the small dressing room. 

“Elio.” I loved the way my name sounded with Professor Kuznetsov’s heavy Russian accent.

“Hey, Professor.” I turned to shake his hand and blushed at how proud he looked.

“You have really excelled so far this semester. The faculty sees great potential in you.”

“I appreciate that.” I really did, especially because I’d occasionally had a slight crisis regarding my selected path. 

“I am eager to read your exam next week.” I chuckled at his phrasing and he clapped me on the shoulder. “You will do well tonight. Don't forget to sit up straight.”

Ten minutes after my conversation with Professor Kuznetsov and I was striding out onto the stage, welcomed by a round of applause. I took my place at center stage and clasped my hands in front of me, waiting for the applause to die down.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” I cleared my throat and shook my bangs off my forehead. I always hated the introductory piece required before performances. “I’m Elio Perlman, a second year piano student at the Juilliard School. Tonight I’ll be playing Claude Debussy’s  _ Images _ . The first book was published in 1905 and the second in 1907. Debussy jokingly referred to the piece as being written ‘according to the most recent discoveries in harmonic chemistry.’ Marked to be played ‘with a fantastical but precise lightness,’ it achieves an extraordinary rapprochement between academic note-spinning and imaginative atmosphere, with a few fanfares added for good measure. Please enjoy tonight’s program and, on behalf of the Juilliard School, I welcome you to the C. Michael Paul Recital Hall.”

There was another round of applause as I spun on my heel and walked over to the piano bench. I sat and took a deep breath before starting to play, letting the notes flow, just as I’d practiced over the previous few weeks.

Once I finally finished, I was met with a standing ovation. I stood, adjusted my jacket, and took the required bows. After walking offstage, with a familiar and satisfying sense of accomplishment and relief, I immediately took off my bowtie, eager to get back into my street clothes.

Once I fully divested, I found Oliver still sitting in his seat in the now empty auditorium. “You were incredible,” he said, not looking up from his book which he must have pulled out after my performance.

“Thanks.” I flopped down in the seat in front of him but turned so that I could watch him. 

“Pat and Amanda were here. They say hi, but had to run to relieve the babysitter.

I hummed and draped my arms over the back of the chair, letting my cheek drop to my shoulder as I closed my eyes. I heard Oliver’s book thud shut and then there were suddenly fingers in my hair. I hummed again and pressed up into the touch.

“You really were fantastic,” Oliver said, this time softer. “Where do you get it from, baby? All that talent, packed into that tiny body.” I laughed and Oliver gently tugged a curl. “Come on, my goose. Let’s get home and into bed.”

“ ‘m not tired,” I tried to protest, but Oliver barely let me finish.

“Yes, you are. I know you are. You  _ always are _ after a performance. It’s already 9:15 and you were up late last night. You’re gonna be dead on your feet by the time we get home.” Of course, Oliver was right, and as soon as we got home, I stripped and crawled into bed. Just as he predicted, I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Finals week was a drag. Oliver and I barely saw each other and it seemed as if we were on completely different schedules. When I was cramming, he was catching up on sleep. While I was napping, he was grading papers. Luxurious morning coffees became unceremoniously ingested double shots of espresso and quick pecks goodbye before going off to our respective campuses. Long conversations about books or music or television became mumbled answers to murmured questions while hunched over at the desk in the study. I took my last exam on the Thursday before break started, and as soon as I put my pencil down, I felt as if all of the stress I’d been carrying for my entire life instantly ebbed away. And I knew it would be even better once I was at home with Oliver.

We decided to take off from the center on the Friday after finals, and I was glad for that. We spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon in bed, alternating between sleeping and swapping lazy kisses. Oliver left me in bed around 1:30 to grade his students’ final exams. He was hard-pressed to grade them as quickly as possible so that we had as much time together during break as possible. An hour later, I rolled out of bed and took a quick shower. I felt refreshed, like I could finally breathe again. And breathe I did as I wrapped Oliver’s robe around my shoulders. I inhaled his scent left on the cozy fabric and stood there in the warm, steamy bathroom for another second before padding out to the study.

Oliver was sat at the desk, two piles of papers on the side table, the shorter of which I hoped to be the ones he hadn't yet graded. I came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders, hoping to ease some of the tension that had already crept back in.

“Mmh...hi.”

“Hi.” I kissed the back of his head before pulling his chair back a bit. He sighed, but before he could complain, I slipped onto his lap. 

“You smell nice.”

“I smell like you.” 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder. He laughed and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me briefly before going back to grading. I enjoyed being on his lap, my tiny frame completely surrounded by my Oliver.    


“Can you grab that blue pen for me?” Oliver asked a few minutes later. I stirred from my stupor and cracked my eyes open. I reached for the pen in question and Oliver handed me his red one as he wrote a note to his student at the bottom of the page in blue. “You wanna be the official pen holder in this operation?”

“Yes, please.” Oliver kissed my cheek and traded me the blue pen for the red. We spent another two hours like that until he finished the last paper. 

“Fuck,” he sighed, setting down his pen and relaxing back in the chair. He flexed his fingers and cracked the knuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever graded so many papers in my life.”

Later, while we were relaxing on the couch after dinner, our phone rang.

“You expecting a call?” Oliver asked as I reached over to grab the receiver.

“Nope. Hello?”

“Bonjour, mon chérie.” Jeffrey’s crooning voice came clear over the line and I flopped back onto the couch.

“Hey! How was the center today?” 

Jeffrey caught us up on all the goings-on, and let us know that Alondro was today’s rummy winner for the third week in a row. “What are you and your darling Oliver up to tomorrow night?”

I shrugged and glanced over at Oliver. “Nothing really. It’s officially break for us, and we haven’t made many plans.”

“Wonderful. I’m doing a show tomorrow night at the Pyramid Club.”

“Really?” I’d heard of the club, of course, but had never been there. It was a favorite of well-known queens RuPaul, Lypsinka, and Lady Bunny.

“Yes, darling. 9 pm. I expect you and Oliver to be there. It’s a tame one, so I think you’ll enjoy it.” Oliver nodded before I could ask him; he must have been able to hear Jeffrey through the receiver.

“We’re there. Front row.”

“Oh, honey, I’m reserving the best table in the house just for you.”

As promised, Oliver and I arrived at the Pyramid Club at 8:45. And, as promised, Jeffrey reserved a table right in the front for us. We got our drinks from the bar and then settled at our table. Oliver draped his arm over the back of my hair and I shifted so that I could lean into him. The club began filling up, and Oliver made sure to grab us a second drink just before the show started.

The lights dimmed and there was a sudden swell of orchestral music that played for about a minute before abruptly cutting out. A bright white spotlight hit the stage and the old velvet curtains parted to reveal Jeffrey, decked out in a tall blonde wig, glittering makeup, and a metallic gold dress that hugged his body and padded breasts in all the right places. A chorus of trumpets rang out before Jeffrey started lip-syncing to Eartha Kitt’s rendition of  _ C’est Si Bon _ . He swayed his hips as he walked downstage, his movements getting even more sultry as the song progressed. After his big finish, there was a raucous round of applause and cheers, which Oliver and I readily participated in.

“Bienvenue, mes amis. I am Miss Eva DuBonnet. Welcome to the Pyramid Club.” As soon as the words left those perfectly red lips, Jeffrey was truly transformed into Eva Dubonnet, the ethereal queen that she was. I sat up a bit straighter in my chair and Oliver brushed his fingers over my shoulder. After a brief welcome, Eva began singing again. I smiled as the show went on, and rested my head on Oliver’s shoulder. Eva lip-synced to classics by the most iconic divas and her dancing made for incredible entertainment. For the closing number, a few more queens joined Eva on stage, and they all did a striptease to Josette Dayde’s  _ Coucou _ until they were left in just their lacey underwear. Eva even pulled off her glove and tossed it onto our table. I was a bit taken aback at how there was no trace of a penis beneath the red lace covering Jeffrey’s brown skin, but I couldn’t devote too much time to thinking about that as the entire audience was on their feet cheering. I leaped up and joined in, cheering as loud as I could for Eva and her company. 

Oliver and I got another drink while we waited for the queens to come out from backstage. I had expected Jeffrey to come out, back in street clothes, but what I got was Eva, now wearing a skimpy sequined number.

“Hello, darlings.” Oliver and I both received European kisses and I laughed when Eva left traces of red lipstick on Oliver’s cheeks.

“Marking your territory?”

“Well, you didn’t. And that’s your number one mistake.  _ Always _ mark your man in lipstick.” Eva took a seat at our table, red lips curving up into a smile. “How did you like it?”

“That was fantastic,” Oliver said immediately, leaning across the table. I chuckled at his eagerness and rubbed over his back.

“It was. Who knew you could do a split?”

“Practice makes perfect, my loves. This show was much more...relaxed. We tend to get fewer crowds during the holidays, so the shows are more of an Old Hollywood feel. Miss Eva can get  _ quite _ filthy.” 

“Are we allowed to come to another one?” I asked hesitantly, fiddling with the cocktail napkin that was now damp with the condensation from my drink.

“Oh, honey, of course, you can,” Eva laughed, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Come back after New Year’s. We’ll put on a gloriously raunchy show, just for you.”

We chatted until Eva’s backup singers emerged, all three in new dresses and wigs. We were introduced to the other queens before they flitted off to make their rounds.

“Home?” Oliver asked, nuzzling his nose into my hair.

“Home.”

The entire subway ride back, I couldn’t get the image of those lace panties out of my mind, and what a pair might look like on my own porcelain skin. 

The Monday after, I rolled out of bed before Oliver, around 9:30. “Where are you going?” he groaned, reaching for the hem of my shirt and trying to pull me back to bed. I shivered when my feet hit the floor, and all I wanted to do was get back under the warm covers.

“We need groceries,” I claimed. “I’m going to do some shopping. I’ll be back soon.” It wasn’t a complete lie. We did, indeed, need sustenance for our hibernation.”

“Be careful. Snowed a lot last night.”

I came over to Oliver’s side of the bed and made sure he was properly tucked in. We’d been having a few problems with our heat and the super was due to come up and take a look later that afternoon. “I’ll wear my boots. What do you want me to get for dinner tonight?”

Oliver burrowed further under the covers, and I almost missed his mumbled, “Some sort of red meat,” which was muffled by the blankets. I kissed the top of Oliver’s head, just the part that was visible over the covers, before dressing and tiptoeing out of the apartment.

Instead of going to our usual grocery, I hopped on the 1 and took it down to 34th Street to get to Macy’s. After much internal debate, I was in the market for a certain garment, as well as a good gift for Oliver. The last day of Hanukkah had been the day before, but we’d been so swept up with final exams that we barely celebrated. Luckily, Christmas was right around the corner and, while we didn’t participate for religious reasons, we were going to Pat and Amanda’s to celebrate. We’d already gotten them each a gift, as well as more than a few gifts for baby Kate, but I still needed something to give to Oliver.

It perhaps wasn’t my best idea to go to Macy’s nine days before Christmas. While the decorations were lovely, I could barely pay attention to them with all of the hustle and bustle happening around me. There were children  _ everywhere _ , some screaming and crying, some patiently holding their parents’ hands. Employees seemed to lurk around every corner, trying to coax me into buying overpriced and smelly perfumes. Christmas music was blasting over the speakers, and there was already a line forming for children to meet Santa. 

“Questo è un incubo,” I said under my breath as I fought my way over to the large store map posted by the elevators. I stared at it for far too long before a stroke of genius hit: Oliver had been complaining about his wallet for a few weeks. The old leather had finally cracked and frayed, and it was definitely time he get a new one. I headed in the right direction, disappointed to find that the crowds of people did not let up in the leathergoods sections. I shopped around for a bit, weight cost and appearance of a few different brands before finally settling on a simple black wallet by Burberry. They offered to have it monogrammed with Oliver’s initials while I continued shopping, and I figured the extra $50 was worth it for the personal touch. I wandered back to the elevators, checking the map again even though I knew exactly where my next stop would be.

I took the elevators up to the sixth floor. It was much less crowded, the walls were a very light pink, and the Christmas decorations were more feminine and airy. I took a few tentative steps across the linoleum, almost turning and running back to the elevator on three separate occasions. Before I could, I was approached by a pretty young woman.

“Hi, my name’s Patricia. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you find today. We  _ are _ running a sale on stockings and bras.” She paused and looked me over, taking in my nervous eyes. “Although it looks like you’re here to find a Christmas gift for your girlfriend.”

“Huh?” It took me a second to register what she had said, and I blinked a few times. “Oh! Oh, right, yes. Yeah. I was thinking a pair...a pair of -”

Patricia laughed and placed her hand on my shoulder. “I work with men like you every second of every day. Please, follow me, Mr…”

“Perlman. Er, Elio. Elio is fine.”

“Elio, please, right this way.” She led me over to a large rectangular table where bras and panties were stacked to the heavens. There looked to be about 800 different styles and just as many colors and fabrics. I instantly felt overwhelmed and was glad that Patricia was there to help me. “Now, are you looking for a full set or just one or the other?” 

I looked over the bras and wrinkled my nose, remembering how hard it was to unclasp Marzia’s. Aside from that, I didn’t have the breasts to fill it out. “Just a pair of underwear, I think.”

She pulled out a hidden drawer beneath the table that housed only underwear. “Do you have a -”

“Lace. Definitely lace.” 

“Alright, lace it is.” She showed me a few options, which I all politely declined until we got to a royal purple pair. The front was entirely see-through lace with two high elastic strings connecting that to the back piece, also lace. 

“Oh,” I sighed, reaching out to run my fingers over the fabric. It was the first pair that I could easily imagine on my own slim hips.

“These are a lovely pair. And Maidenform is one of our bestselling brands. It’s even safe to stick them in the washing machine.”

“I think…” I cleared my throat and nodded. “I think that’s the pair.”

“Wonderful!” Patricia closed that drawer and opened the one below it. “What size?”

“Uh...a small? Yes, I think a small will fit nicely. Will fit  _ her _ nicely.” If Patricia suspected anything, she didn’t say a word, just continued being her polite self. I paid for the panties and thanked Patricia profusely as she wrapped them up in a small box. She handed me her card before I left, telling me to come back whenever I needed another gift or the matching bra. I scurried down to Burberry to pick up Oliver’s now completed wallet before jumping back on the 1 train and heading to the grocery before going home.

I hid the panties in my dresser drawer, not sure when to put them on. It took me another week before I finally had the courage to even try them on to see if they fit. Oliver was out with Pat, who had enlisted Oliver to help him find a gift for Amanda. At least I hadn’t procrastinated so much that I was out shopping two days before Christmas. Oliver left me pouting in bed that morning. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get him to stay in bed with me as we had every other morning for the past week.

“He’s desperate,” Oliver sighed. I watched from our bed as he dressed, still pouting. “We’re gonna stick around the area. I should be home by lunch.”

After I heard the door click shut, I tried to go back to sleep, but it was a futile attempt. I was awake, and there was no chance of me falling back under without Oliver there. I slipped out of bed and, as I rummaged around for a clean pair of socks, I stumbled upon the unopened Macy’s box.

“Good a time as ever,” I decided as I took off the lid. I placed the box on my dresser and shucked my boxers before pulling the lace up my thighs and over my hips. It felt strange: a bit itchy at first before my skin started to adjust to the feeling. “Oh,” I breathed as I looked down at the way the fabric bulged around my penis. And what would it look like when it was hard, the fabric pulled even tighter across my skin? My cock gave a twitch at that and I had to press my nails into my palms and take a few deep breaths. “Okay, Elio. Alright. Okay. The mirror. Right.” 

I turned and took the new steps towards the mirror, my eyes closed. Once I knew I was standing in front of it, I took yet another deep breath before opening my eyes.

“Fuck.”

The color was perfect against my skin and the fabric settled over my hips and crotch just right. I turned a bit so I could look at my ass clad in the purple lace. I ran my hand over a cheek and down my thigh before turning back around. It was a different look without my penis tucked between my legs as Jeffrey had done to transform into Eva. But I found that I did not want to hide it away, that I wanted the panties to accentuate the curve of it. I ran my finger over the very tiny satin bow at the top and smiled. “I thought I knew you,” I said to my penis’ reflection, but not in a malicious or disappointed way. Moving to New York had brought about monumental moments of self-discovery, and I’d never felt so in touch with myself in all of my nineteen-and-a-half years.

I hooked my thumbs into the straps at my hips to take them off, but I found that I couldn’t. I didn’t want to divest myself of the lace against my skin and I figured that night was a perfect opportunity to show off my new purchase. I slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt and went to lounge on the couch with breakfast until Oliver got home. I squirmed a bit at first, trying to get used to the feeling of the lace over my ass, but it soon felt almost like a second skin.

Once Oliver got home, we decided to stay in that day. It’d been snowing since the afternoon before, and Oliver’s scruff was frozen over with frost. I laughed as he kissed my cheeks, getting me all damp and cold.

“You asshole,” I squealed as I pushed him away. “And you didn’t even take off your boots! You’re getting snow all over the floor!”

Oliver kissed me again before taking off his boots and coat over by the front door. “Sorry, sorry.” He came back to the couch and flopped next to me, curling up by my side. “Hold me, please.” I chuckled but did as requested and wrapped my arms around Oliver.

“You’re freezing. You need to wear more layers,” I chided with a kiss to the top of his head.

“Okay,  _ mom _ .”

“Shh, you’re interrupting Cheers.”

“You’ve seen this episode a hundred times. It’s a rerun.”

“Yes, but I like Ted Danson’s flannel in this one.” Oliver settled down at that and we spent the rest of the afternoon lounging and watching television. 

I decided to make a pot roast for dinner, so I left Oliver on the couch at around 3. He begged me to come back but I just draped a blanket over him.    


“Murder She Wrote is on next. Just settle down at watch it. I’m making dinner.”

I was in the kitchen until 7, preparing our pot roast with a side of mashed potatoes. I selected a red wine that we’d brought back from Crema over the summer and asked Oliver to set the table. “I’m just going to change out of these clothes. I smell like a butchery.” I swapped my now stained and sweaty tee-shirt for one of Oliver’s shirts and a new pair of sweatpants. I settled at the table as Oliver served us and poured the wine.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, raising his glass. I clinked mine against his and we both took a sip. “Perfect for a cozy night in.”

“How about we put on a movie?” Oliver asked later as we were washing the dishes. 

“I was actually thinking we could…” I trailed off, which earned me a confused glance from Oliver. I was never coy or nervous when initiating sex, so my slight stutter obviously set off alarm bells.

“We could…” He prompted, waving his hand for me to continue.

I dried the plate he had just handed me and put it back in the cabinet. “Okay. You finish that pot and come meet me in the bedroom.” Oliver just shrugged and I left him with a parting kiss to his shoulder.

Once in the bedroom, I flicked through our record collection before pulling out a Rita Pavone album. She had been popular in Italy ever since I was born and my father had played her records often for me at home. I briefly considered putting on a classical album, but figured ‘60s pop would probably suit this better. Oliver came into the bedroom a few minutes later to find me sitting on the bed, humming along with  _ Come Te Non C’e’ Nessuno _ . 

“This is a nice record,” he said, sitting down next to me. As soon as he did, I sprung up, and Oliver looked up at me, obviously concerned. “You okay, baby?”

I bit my lip and nodded taking a step backward so that Oliver had a good view. I pushed the sweatpants off my hips, but I was wearing one of Oliver’s longer shirts, so the panties were still covered.

“Come here,” he said, trying to reach out for me.

I shook my head and started toying with the top button. “No, just. Just sit right there, for now, okay?”

“Alright, baby.” 

I began unbuttoning his shirt, going slow and in time with the song that was playing. I kept the fabric close around me as I unbuttoned it, not wanting Oliver to get a glimpse before I was ready. Once the shirt was totally unbuttoned, I let it fall from my shoulders. I was stood there, in all my naked glory, except for the panties. I was half-hard already, just from the thought of Oliver seeing me in my dirty little secret. 

“Elio.” Oliver was staring at me. Or, more accurately, he was staring at my panties. 

“Do you...are they okay?”

“Okay? Fuck, baby.” Olive reached out for me again and so I stepped forward into his embrace. He delicately placed his hands over my hips, his thumbs brushing over the corners of the lace. “God, you are gorgeous.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over the top and my cock pressed more insistently against the lace. I gasped and let my head fall back as Oliver began kissing over my heated skin. “That feel good?”

“Y-Yeah,” I sighed, my fingers tightening in Oliver’s hair as I felt his tongue sweep over a small patch of lace. 

“So good for me. So pretty.” Oliver’s compliment had me whining high in my throat and I pushed my hips into his hands. He laughed and patted my side. “I got you, Elio. Here, c’mere.” He pulled me down onto his lap, his hands immediately coming to rest on my ass I leaned down for a kiss. I was patient for only a moment before I began squirming on Oliver lap. He laughed and picked me up, depositing me on the center of our bed. Oliver descended immediately, his mouth enveloping the head of my cock through the lace. I cried out and latched my fingers into Oliver’s hair again. 

“Ol-Oliver,” I whispered, planting my feet on the bed and arching my back. “Oliver, Oliver...fuck!” He sucked hard at my cock and then nuzzled against the panties.

“How long have you been hiding these?”

“A week.”

“You mean I could have seen you like this  _ a week ago _ ?” I knew he was just teasing, but I squirmed beneath him.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Mmh...that’s alright. I’m glad I get to see you in them now, though.” He kissed over my hips and tugged at the elastic strap with his teeth before letting it snap back into place. “You want me to fuck you in your pretty panties?”

“Yes, please.”

Oliver kissed my hip again before fetching the lube from the bedside table. I made to take off my panties, but Oliver grabbed my wrist. “No, no. I said I would fuck you  _ in _ your panties, didn’t I?” I groaned, and Oliver helped me roll onto my stomach. I pushed up onto my hands and knees and shoved my hips back, presenting my ass to Oliver. He pushed my panties to the side and just as he did, I felt his lubed fingers press against my hole. He pushed two in to start and I keened at the intrusion. “That’s it,” he cooed, palming my ass with his free hand. “That’s it, Elio.”

“Feels...Feels so good.” I rolled my hips back, fucking myself on Oliver’s fingers. I was leaking steadily against the front of the panties, and I desperately wanted Oliver’s hand on my cock, but not until he was inside me. Oliver was always so confident and efficient while opening me up, his strong fingers working me open for his cock.

“You ready?” he asked once he comfortably had three fingers inside of me. I nodded and Oliver pulled his fingers free. I heard the lube open again and soon, the head of Oliver’s cock was against my hole. “Sit back, baby. Let me watch you.”

I did as I was told and slowly let my hips sink back until my ass was flush with Oliver’s pelvis. He grabbed both of the elastic straps at my hips, using that as leverage as he began fucking me “Love your cock,” I choked out, my hole fluttering as Oliver’s cock brushed my prostate. 

“Love everything about you,” Oliver said, his voice practically a low growl. “God, you feel so good.”

“Can you touch me?” I asked, rolling my hips. 

“I got you,” Oliver assured, reaching around and stroking my cock through the panties. The lace heightened every sensation and I cried out, coming just a second after Oliver started to touch me.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed as I came down from my orgasm, my hips still rocking into Oliver’s hand. “Didn’t mean to - so fast - fuck.” My orgasm had rocketed through me, catching me a bit off-guard.

“That’s okay.” Oliver was breathless as he snapped his hips forward hard. “Gonna come inside you, Elio.” I nodded and Oliver went back to tugging at the panties as he rolled his hips. He only lasted a moment longer before he spilled inside of me, filling me and marking me with his come. He stayed inside me for a few minutes, draping himself over my back. We collapsed onto the bed with Oliver’s added weight, both laughing as we became a tangled, sweaty mess. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured against my ear, “how much I love you?”

“Mmh. A lot, right?”

“Right.”

Oliver rolled off of me and helped me clean up. We both put on fresh pajamas and I opened up a window before we got back into bed.

“Don’t start,” I said, effectively cutting off Oliver’s complaints. I loved having the window open and the heat blasting during the winter, especially because it meant I could curl up against Oliver. We snuggled up under the covers together and Oliver lit a cigarette, taking a drag before passing it to me.

“Where’d you get those?”

“Macy’s,” I said with my exhale, passing the cigarette back to Oliver. I turned a bit in his arms so that I could look up at him and recited: “‘If you see a fair form, chase it. And if possible embrace it, be it a girl or boy. Don’t be bashful: be brash, be fresh. Life is short, so enjoy whatever contact your flesh may at the moment crave: There’s no sex life in the grave.’”

“Hmm...Auden?”

“Yup.”

In life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation he was to me.

On Christmas Day, Oliver and I donned our best and trudged through the snow up to Pat and Amanda’s house. Pat’s parents were supposed to come down for the holiday but had been trapped at home due to snow, so it would just be the four of us and the baby. When we arrived, Kate had already opened the gifts from her parents, but the one-year-old was more than happy to open the additional gifts we brought along with her.

“Sorry, Oliver and I haven’t really done the whole gift exchange thing yet,” I said, blushing as I passed Oliver the small wrapped box. Amanda ruffled my hair and passed Pat a fresh cup of coffee before settling next to him. Oliver passed me a box as well and we grinned at each other before tearing into the wrapping paper.

“Elio!” Oliver cried when he opened the box, revealing his new leather and monogrammed wallet. “This is fantastic, you shouldn’t have.”

“Oliver, your wallet is almost torn in half. You’ve needed a new one for months.” He laughed at my cheekiness and leaned in for quick kiss.

“C’mon, finish opening yours.”

I did as I was told and plucked the top off of the Lord and Taylor box to reveal a navy cashmere sweater. “Oh,” I breathed, running my fingers over the soft fabric. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.” We kissed again, but were quickly interrupted by Kate who toddled over and begged Oliver to play with her. 

It was a fantastic Christmas. Amanda and Pat decorated their apartment beautifully, and the scent of pine from their real Christmas tree commingled perfectly with the scent of Amanda’s cooking. We were served a fabulous feast and I definitely drank my fair share of good wine. 

“What are your plans for New Year?” Pat asked as we relaxed on the couch after putting Kate to bed.

“We decided to go to dinner, just the two of us.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea,” Amanda gushed. “Where are you going?”

I shrugged and dropped my hand onto Oliver’s thigh. “Dunno. He’s surprising me.”

Amanda smiled fondly at us and rested her head on Pat’s shoulder. “Remember when we were like that?” she teased. “Back before we had kids? When we were young?” 

“Oh stop,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes. “You guys are young. And you’ve only got Kate, anyway. She’s such a good kid. So mellow.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” Amanda jumped up and fished around under the tree for a small box. “I have one last present for you guys.” She handed me the box and I passed it to Oliver to open.

“You’re far too generous,” I said as Oliver untied the bow and opened the box. “You really did-”

“Holy shit!”

I looked over at Oliver after his exclamation and gasped when I saw an ultrasound. “No!” I turned back to Pat and Amanda. “No, really?”

“Yep.” Amanda laughed as Pat kissed her cheek. “Due in September.”

“You guys just can’t keep it in your pants, can you?”

“Oliver! Don’t be vulgar!” I stood and wrapped Amanda in a tight hug. “Don’t listen to him. We’re so  _ so _ happy for you guys.”

“It’s going to be a handful with two little ones,” Pat sighed once we’d all settled on the couch again. “But we wanted a big family so…” He shrugged and looked over at Amanda. They were both beaming and my heart soared with how happy I was for them. As soon as we got home, Oliver hung our copy of the ultrasound on our fridge. I loved how excited he was for the baby and I was thankful that Pat and Amanda let us be such a big part of Kate’s life.

“Have you seen my hat?” I called from the bedroom as I rifled through our closet.

“Not since the other day!” It was two days after Christmas and Oliver and I were trying to get organized and go out or a romp in the park. We planned on building a snowman, but I had ulterior motives: a snowball fight until Oliver was soaked from head to toe. Except I couldn’t find my hat anywhere.

I let out a frustrated groan as I stomped back over to where my coat was draped over a dining chair. I checked the pockets for the hundredth time and huffed when they weren’t there. “Do you have one I could borrow?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a box of hats in the closet.”

I rolled my eyes and stomped  _ back _ into the bedroom. “In the closet. _Of_ _course_ it’s in the closet.” The phone rang and I sighed as I pulled the box out. “Could you get that?” I heard Oliver pick up the phone and when he didn’t call for me, I concentrated on finding a suitable hat. I finally did and came out to find Oliver still on the phone. He was on the couch, hunched over on himself, head hung. I went up behind him and rubbed over his back as he finished up his conversation.

“Yeah.” His voice sounded scratchy and I was immediately concerned. “Okay. This - But it’s -! Right. Right, of course. Yeah. Bye.” Oliver hung up the phone and covered his face with his hands.

“What?” I asked, coming around to sit next to him, now in full panic mode. “What happened, Oliver? Is everything -”

“My...my mom died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos always appreciated! 
> 
> Come[Follow Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Claude Debussy end of semester song](https://youtu.be/L47SRue0gt8)
> 
>  
> 
> [Eartha Kitt's C’est si bon](https://youtu.be/NWCo5ex40IQ)
> 
>  
> 
> [Josette Dayde’s Coucou](https://youtu.be/0WqmkSMpqvg)
> 
>  
> 
> [Lingerie!!](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/bd/ab/6b/bdab6ba2acb93035c3dc87ee158a2165--classic-lingerie-lingerie-vintage.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> [Rita Pavone's Come Te Non C’e’ Nessuno](https://youtu.be/i_1Zo2BYVi8)
> 
>  
> 
> Poem Elio recites about ~being bi~ is 'The Moment' by WH Auden
> 
> Constellation quote by Madeline Miller


	6. Sharp like a scythe his sorrow was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay; I had a bunch of friends visiting and I also saw Straight White Men last week! It's been eventful for sure. Enjoy the chapter!

"Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha'olam, dayan ha-emet.” It was Jewish custom to speak those words, _Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the universe, the Judge of Truth_ , after hearing of the passing of another Jew. I had never said them until that moment.

After that, I was stunned into silence, which didn’t happen often. Oliver rarely spoke of his family. I knew the basics: he’d grown up in Providence, Rhode Island with an older brother and two sisters. His father was a lawyer, his mother a philanthropist, which was really code for: they were so wealthy that she didn’t need to work. Oliver was the second of the four, the odd one out, and his parents had never supported his decision to go into philosophy and the arts. They hadn’t spoken in years, since Oliver started at NYU. I wasn’t privy to the details, and I wasn’t sure if he’d kept in touch with his siblings. We sat silently and I rubbed his back, all plans of a snowball fight quickly forgotten.

“That was my brother,” he finally said. He was still hunched over with his face in his hands. His words were muffled, but I could still hear him in our otherwise quiet apartment. I didn’t answer, just waited for him to continue. “She got sick a few weeks ago. It was just a cold at first, but it escalated to pneumonia. She couldn’t fight it.” He sighed and I scooted a little closer. “I need to leave. They’re burying her tomorrow.”

“I’ll go pack us a bag, just sit -”

“No, Elio, I’m going alone.”

“I can’t, Oliver. I can’t let you go alone.”

“They can’t find out about you.”

“I don’t have to come to anything. I can stay in a hotel nearby.”

“Fuck, I need to get a room.”

“Aren’t you going to stay with your family?”

“My father doesn’t want me in the house.”

I was a bit taken aback by that and my hand stilled on Oliver’s shoulder. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Alright, so I’ll just stay in our room. Please, Oliver, let me come with you.”

He shook his head and the tips of his fingers turned white where he pressed them harder against his face. “No. I don’t want them to even set eyes on you.”

“Why? I want to be there to help you.”

Oliver just shrugged my hand off his shoulder and scrubbed his hands over his face before standing. I looked up at him and frowned at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes. “I’m going to pack.”

I sat on the couch for a few more minutes, just listening to Oliver rustle around in the bedroom as he packed. There was something Oliver wasn’t telling me. I was sure of it as he wasn’t even letting me come and stay with him in the hotel. I tiptoed into our bedroom a while later to find Oliver zipping his two black suits into a garment bag.

“I’m going to head over to Penn Station in a bit to catch the next train up there.” He turned to me and I couldn’t help but step forward so that I was pressed against him. I dropped my forehead to his shoulder and hummed when he wrapped his arms around me.

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” I said, winding my own arms around his waist and clutching at his shirt.

“It’s - I -” He stopped and huffed and I could feel the confliction radiating off of him. “I just don’t know how to feel.”

“You don’t have to know right now.” I tilted my head up to look at him. “Let me come with you, Oliver. Let me be there for you. Please.”

“I’m going to call some hotels in the area.” He dropped a kiss to my forehead before pulling away and I could tell that was to be the end of the conversation. While Oliver made phone calls in the living room, I packed his toiletries bag for him, making sure to include Advil, his toothbrush and favorite toothpaste, and his shaving kit. I placed it in his suitcase for him and slipped in the photo of us he kept on his bedside table.

“I found a place,” he said as I came back into the living room. I sat beside him and watched as he finished writing something down. “Alright, there’s the hotel name and phone number just in case.” I looked down at the piece of paper that was now in my hands and traced my fingers over Oliver’s familiar scrawl. “The burial is tomorrow and then I’ll have to sit shiva. I’ll be home Sunday afternoon the latest. I’m gonna call you when I get to the hotel today.”

“Sunday afternoon,” I repeated, feeling my heart sink. That was an entire week. That was the day before we went back to school, the last day of our winter vacation.

“Don’t get up to anything crazy while I’m gone,” Oliver instructed. I glanced up at him and he brushed his fingers over my cheek before leaning in for a very soft kiss. “And be careful on New Year's.”

Oliver would be away for the New Year. We’d miss our dinner reservation. I’d be alone. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes and my throat constricted, but I nodded. I blinked back my tears, afraid of seeming small and weak. “I will,” I promised, even though I knew I’d just be sitting at home.

I made sure Oliver had his hat, scarf, and gloves before he headed out. We said goodbye with a few kisses by the front door. I was reluctant to let him go, and I pleaded with him again to let me go with him. But again he refused and I was soon left in an empty and too-quiet apartment.

I spent most of the morning deep cleaning the apartment, even going so far as re-organizing all of our kitchen cabinets. It had been on our to-do list for a while, and I figured that with Oliver gone, it was the perfect time to get our household chores done. At about 2, the phone rang, and I sprinted from where I was folding clothes in the bedroom to get it.

“Pronto?”

“It’s me.”

“Hi.” I flopped down on the couch and cradled the phone as close to my ear as possible, wishing it could teleport me to Oliver’s hotel.

“Just wanted to let you know I made it in okay. I’m at the hotel now. I’m in room 14, so just tell them to connect you there if you need to call.” I heard him sigh and there was some rustling on the other end, which I assumed was from him getting under the sheets.

“Are you sure you don’t want me there? I can be there by dinner.”

“No, Elio, really. It’s - I just don’t want you near them.”

There was a pregnant pause as I shifted on the couch. “Why not? And besides, I’ll just stay in our room. Please, Oliver, I just want to be with you.”

“I said no, Elio.”

“Okay.” We were quiet again, just listening to each other breathe.

“Elio?” I glanced down at my watch. We’d been sitting on the phone together for almost thirty minutes.

“I’m still here.”

“I don’t -” His voice was wobbly and he sniffled. “I don’t know what to think.”

“I wish I could -” I sighed and held the phone tighter. “I wish I could take your pain away.”

“I don’t know if I... _feel_ that.” His words were slow and hesitant. “I almost feel relieved but...she…”

“She was your mom.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you, Oliver.”

“Love you.”

“Promise me you’ll call this week.”

“I will. I-I should go.”

“Yeah.” We both stayed on the line for another few minutes. “Let me know if you need me,” I finally said, my growling stomach breaking me out of my stupor.

“Thanks.”

“Talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

After hanging up, I made myself a turkey sandwich, which I ate while standing up in the kitchen, just staring at the wall. Despite the chilly weather and snow, I decided to bundle up and go out for a walk after lunch. I ambled around the park, watching young children sledding with their parents watching from a safe distance. I paused under a tree for a while, just watching kids chucking snowballs at one another. I wished Oliver was there, kissing me under snow-heavy branches until our noses were raw from the cold. On my way home, I picked up food from our usual Thai place for dinner. After a long shower, I curled up on the couch with my dinner and an episode of _Dallas_.

It didn’t hit me that I was really alone until I got into bed. It felt too big and too cold without Oliver there, and I pulled the blankets tighter around me. I tried imagining he was just in the other room or in the shower, but that didn’t work. I tried to pretend that he was really there with me, arms wrapped around my tiny torso like always, but that didn’t help either. I groaned and shoved my face into his pillow, which didn’t smell like him at all as we’d just changed the sheets. After an hour of tossing and turning in bed, I rummaged through the closet in the dark to find Billowy. The fabric had gone soft a long time ago. It carried my scent now instead of Oliver’s, as he hadn’t worn it since he gave it to me. Nevertheless, I wrapped it around my shoulders and let the long arms hang down around my hands. I crawled back into bed after buttoning it up around my frame and, another two hours later, I finally drifted off.

The next day, I decided to go over to Julliard to use one of the practice rooms. The entire building was empty since it was still winter break, but I found that I quite liked the silence as I played. I ran through some scales and arpeggios before starting in on a Chopin piece I’d been tinkering around with. After a few hours, I munched on the snacks I’d brought along with me, still perched on the piano bench and just staring at the keys in front of me.

I glanced down at my watch. It was noon. Oliver was probably at the funeral. I sighed and let my forehead fall to the wooden bridge above the keys.

“Fuck.”

I felt alone and abandoned, but I couldn’t even begin to imagine how Oliver must have felt, alone up in Rhode Island, forced to be with a family that didn’t care about him. I wanted to be with Oliver, wanted to be there to comfort him, and I felt like I wasn’t doing anything useful just sitting home.

I trudged back to the apartment and checked the time before dialing my parents in Crema. It was only 9 pm there, so they were probably enjoying a digestif in the living room.

“Pronto?”

“Ciao, Mamma, it’s me.”

“Elio, tesoro!”

“I miss you.” I was on the couch and I pulled the blanket tighter around me.

“Oh, bambino, we miss you too.”

“How’s home?”

“It’s lovely here. Quiet without you, though. Papà and I arrived from Milan about a month ago. And we still have another two weeks.”

“ ‘m jealous.”

“We miss you here. Both of you. Your playing, especially. The house is quiet without you.”

“I’d like to bring Oliver to Milan soon. He’s never been.”

“That would be lovely. Perhaps next fall.”

“Sì. Is Papà there?”

My mother laughed and I closed my eyes. If I tried hard enough, I could almost imagine her next to me. “Trying to get rid of me, tesoro?”

“Both, please,” I requested, signaling that I wanted to speak with both of them. There was a pause and some hushed Italian before my father spoke. I could tell they were both huddled around the phone, sharing the receiver between them.

“Ciao, Elio. Oh! And Oliver.”

I swallowed hard before answering. “Oliver isn’t here, actually.”

“I thought you were both off for the holidays. Don’t tell me he’s off for a run. It’s freezing there!”

“No, Mamma, no he’s -” I was about to say he was fine, but I knew he wasn’t. “He’s away. In Rhode Island.” I swallowed again. “His mom died. They buried her today.”

"Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha'olam, dayan ha-emet.”

“Oh. Oh, darling. Mio povero ragazzo.”

“You didn’t go with him, Elly?”

“He didn't want me to.” My parents were both quiet after that. I waited for a response, but none came. “He said he didn’t want them near me.”

“When did he leave?”

“Yesterday.” I blushed at how my voice cracked when answering my mother. Tears stung my eyes and I couldn’t hold them back. “I miss him,” I said between soft, hiccuping sobs. The tears came fast, sudden, and hot. I couldn’t hold them back. “I told him I could just st-stay in the room, but he didn’t want - didn’t want me to.”

“In the room?”

“The room,” I repeated, frustrated that I couldn’t see or touch my parents. “I can’t see you,” I choked out. “Mamma, per favore.”

“Shh, shh, bambino, tesoro. Calmati. You aren’t making sense.”

“Elio,” I sniffed and nodded when my dad spoke, “what do you mean by _room_? Where is Oliver?”

“H-He had to stay in a hotel,” I managed to get out between stuttered breaths. “His dad doesn’t - doesn’t want him there.”

“Okay, Elio?”

“Sì, Papà?”

“Can you take a deep breath?” I did as I was told and slowly exhaled. “Bene, è tutto. Just keep breathing.” I closed my eyes and did so, trying to imagine my head in my mother’s lap, her fingers in my hair, and my feet in my dad’s lap. It took a few minutes for me to calm down. I was still crying, but at least I could breathe properly.

“Mamma?”

“We’re still here, bambino.”

I dragged my hand over my damp cheeks and snotty nose. “I don’t know what to do.” My voice was wobbly and I hated how childish I sounded. “I want to be with him, but I want to-to respect what he wants and I know he’s feeling conflicted right now and -” I had to stop myself. I was getting worked up again and I tried taking deep breaths again.

"Il mio tesoro. Shh, bambino. How does he feel about all of this? It must be hard for him.”

“I think...I think he didn’t have the best relationship with his mom, but um…” I wiped my eyes again and groaned. “I don’t want him to be alone but I don’t want him to hate me.”

“He’s not going to hate you,” my father said. His words comforting but his voice had a bit of a hardness, a way to really drive his words home. “He’d never hate you, Elly-belly, and you know that.”

“He’s not home until Sunday,” I managed to get out. “I can’t...I dunno if…” I tugged at my curls and made a frustrated sound. “What do I do, Papà?”

“He needs you, Elio. You know that. And so does he, deep down, even if he doesn’t realize it now.” I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Losing your mother is…” He paused and I closed my eyes, picturing my grandmother, my dad’s mother. She was a small and kind woman, always sending me small treats and gifts in the mail. She visited us in Italy often, as my grandfather had died before I was born and she wasn’t tied down. She died when I was twelve. I didn’t go to the funeral as I was in the middle of school examinations, but I remembered how devastated my father was and, since then, he couldn’t speak about her without choking up. “Regardless of the relationship, losing your mother is always hard. You know where he’s staying?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Go on, bambino,” my mother said softly. “He will be glad to see you.”

I spoke with my parents a few minutes longer, letting their soft words calm me down further until I could breathe without my chest stuttering. We said our goodbyes and, as soon as I hung up, I went into the bedroom to pack a bag. I figured it would take me about four hours total to get to Penn Station, catch a train up to Providence, and get to his hotel. I haphazardly shoved clothes into my bag and had to go back up to the apartment on two separate occasions before leaving: once because I almost went out without shoes on and a second time because I forgot my hat.

Getting to Penn Station was easy enough, but figuring out where to catch a train to Rhode Island took the better part of 45 minutes. I hadn’t realized just how many lines left from Penn and I was immediately overwhelmed. It took me a second to pluck up the courage, but once I realized I wasn’t going to be able to navigate the trains on my own, I asked a uniformed MTA employee for assistance. I was directed to the Amtrak hall where, once again, I asked an employee for help until I was finally standing on line to buy a ticket to Providence, Rhode Island.

The train was packed with families going back to Rhode Island after a day in the city, everyone laden with shopping bags and wrapped up in their winter finery. I slinked into a window seat and cracked open the book I’d brought along. I wasn’t actually reading anything, mostly just peeking over the pages to spy on the other passengers. I knew that Oliver’s family was wealthy, but the evidence was clear before me. It seemed that every woman headed back to Rhode Island had a fur coat, every man a sharp suit, and every child as many toys as they could hold. The train lurched forward, and with it my stomach, the fear finally kicking in.

_What am I doing? What was I thinking? Traveling all alone to Rhode Island. How am I going to get to the hotel? What will Oliver say?_

I had, thus far, been calm, cool, and collected. It didn’t really hit me until the train emerged from the underground tunnel and bright, wintry light filled the car that I realized there was no going back now. I closed my eyes tight and hoped with everything in me that I would get to the hotel in one piece.

I looked out the window for the duration of the trip, too wound up with nervous energy to pay attention to my book.

Three hours later, the train came to a stop at Union Station. There was immediate calamity once we finally pulled in, everyone jumping up at once to gather luggage and bags and children. It seemed that everyone wanted to be the first one off the train, so I decided to stay put until my general vicinity cleared out. Once I navigated the station, I finally exited onto snowy and bustling streets. I stood still for a moment, unsure of where to look or where to go. I let people pass by me, all off in a rush to get home to their warm houses. After taking in my surroundings for a few moments, I spotted a line of cabs. They were green instead of the bright yellow we had in New York, but I couldn’t miss the word ‘TAXI’ printed in big bold letters over the passenger door of each car. I joined the queue, which was being directed by a police officer, and I was soon ushered into the next free cab.

“Hi, uhm.” I dug around in my pocket for a moment, trying to find the slip of paper with the name of the hotel on it. “I’m so sorry, I’ve never been here and I’m just trying -”

“It’s alright, kid. I’ve got all day.”

The taxi drivers in New York seemed to always be in a rush and always hated if there was any delay in letting them know your destination. I forced myself to take a deep breath and sighed with relief when I finally found the paper. “I’m going to the um...Parkview Inn. It’s on -”

“No worries, I know where it is.” We lapsed into silence as the driver carefully pulled out onto the snowy roads. “I hope you’re meeting someone you know,” the driver said as we pulled up to a red light. I glanced up from where I was looking at Oliver’s note with the hotel information and I met the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I am,” I assured ad I folded up the paper and carefully put it back in my pocket, “thank you.”

The inn was a bit of a drive from the station and I watched out the window as the city slowly became a small suburb. It was as if we were driving into a quaint winter wonderland reminiscent of a tiny model train town. The snow was perfectly blanketed over the streets and the lampposts were decorated with red bows and evergreen boughs. The inn itself was on a large piece of property across from a frozen lake where a bunch of teenagers were sliding over the mirrored surface. I paid the driver and trudged through the snow up to the main house. There were two squat buildings on either side of the house, broken up into multiple rooms which, I assumed, were the guest quarters. I let myself into the main building, immediately defrosting with the blast of heat that greeted me

“Welcome to the Parkview Inn, how may I help you?” I looked up to find a pretty woman sitting at a desk, blonde hair neatly piled on top of her head. I approached the desk and put my bag down, blushing at the trail of snow from my boots behind me. “Don’t worry about the snow,” she said with a soft laugh, noting my worried look. “We’re used to it in the winter. Can I get you a room, or are you checking in?”

“I um...I’m meeting someone here, actually. Oliver Stern? He’s in room 14. I was wondering if I could just um...get a key?”

“Just a moment.” Cindy, her name tag supplied, rifled through the papers on her desk until she found what she was looking for. “We _do_ have a Dr. Stern in room 14, but he didn’t let us know that someone would be picking up a key.” She looked up at me, smile still in place. “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to give you one.”

“I’m his -” I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying _boyfriend_. “I’m his nephew,” I said quickly. “I’m meeting him here from New York and he’s expecting me.”

“I’m so sorry, sir, but I won’t be able to give you a key for security purposes. If he had left notice with us, that would be a different story. But you’re more than welcome to sit in here until he’s back. He left this morning and I haven't seen his car since.” Oliver must have gotten a rental car upon his arrival in order to get back and forth from his parents’ house. I glanced over at the overstuffed armchairs in front of the fireplace before checking my watch. It was almost 7 and I assumed Oliver would be back soon from the funeral.

“No, thank you. He should be back soon. I’ll go wait by his door.”

“Of course. It’s just out this main door and to the left. Four doors down. But if you get cold out there, please do come back in! We’ve got hot cocoa!”

“I will, thank you again.” I picked up my bag and wrapped my scarf tight around my neck before heading back out into the cold. I stationed myself outside room 14. I was, at least, under a small overhang and not in direct line of the steadily falling snow.

I waited outside until only 7:30. I was debating going back into the main house and curling up in front of that inviting fire. I picked up my bag and was about to march back in, pride be damned, when a small sedan pulled into the lot. I watched with wide eyes as the car slowly made its way towards where I was and my stomach churned as the driver parked just one spot from where I was standing. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard when I heard the door open.

“Elio?” It was Oliver. I couldn’t bring myself to speak or open my eyes, so I just nodded. The car door shut and there was suddenly a warm hand on my cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“Had to,” I said through chattering teeth.

“Fuck, you’re freezing cold.” I opened my eyes then and looked up at Oliver, who was standing right in front of me in all of his glory. It was obvious he had been crying and I was desperate to comfort him. “Come on,” he said, sticking the key in the lock and opening the door.

The room was modest with just a bed, TV, and dresser with a small bathroom towards the back. I dropped my bag and immediately wrapped my arms around Oliver as soon as he shut the door behind us.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his own arms coming around me. “I told you not to come.”

“I couldn’t,” I choked out, “I couldn’t stay home without you. Couldn’t let you go through this alone.” I pulled back and looked up at him, expecting to see my warm, beautiful Oliver. But he wasn’t smiling and I wished his eyes weren’t red-rimmed. “I’m sorry,” I said as I stood there, suddenly feeling helpless, “I-I can go.”

“No,” Oliver rushed to say, his hand coming back to my cheek. “No. You came all the way here, I’m not going to just send you back.” I nodded and started pulling off my hat and scarf.

“Pajamas,” I said, reaching out to unzip Oliver’s coat as he was still just standing there. That seemed to kick him into gear and we both worked quietly until we were both out of our clothes and into cozy pajamas. Oliver turned up the heat and I sat down at the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you let me come with you?” I asked, watching as he fiddled with the thermostat.

“It’s a long story.”

“We have all night.”

Oliver sighed, resigned, as he came over to the bed as well. He sat down next to me and leaned in, capturing my lips in a soft kiss. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I answered, giving him another kiss in return. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

He huffed and let his forehead rest against mine. I reached out for his hand and he threaded our fingers together, giving my hand a light squeeze. “My sister, Rachel, she was in high school at the time. A senior. I was in my second year at NYU. A few of my buddies and I went out downtown and I got pretty drunk.”

“Grant?” I asked, brow raised. Grant was always the culprit when it came to getting Oliver drunk in undergrad.

“Grant,” he affirmed, a ghost of a smile fluttering over his lips.

_Let me make you smile, Oliver. Let me take away your pain, make you happy again. This is what I’m here for._

“Okay, drunk with Grant downtown. Got it.”

“Rachel had come into the city that weekend with her friends. I don’t know how she pulled it off, since my mother never let us come into the city in high school. I guess she claimed she was staying with a friend. Well, I got pretty drunk and um…you remember I told you about William Harris?”

“The first man you slept with. From your poetry class.”

“That’s the one. Well, we met at the bar and that’s how things got started. We chatted each other up and I ended up taking him back to my dorm. I guess, I don’t know, I guess Rachel wanted to show off to her friends that she had a big brother in the city, so she came to my room the next morning. I’d been expecting Grant because he promised to bring me a book I needed. It was Rachel and of course, it’s a small dorm room so _of course_ , the bed is in direct line of sight from the door, and she saw William naked in my bed.” Oliver stopped there and sniffed. I could tell he was holding back tears so I squeezed his hand.

“It’s alright,” I whispered, “I’m here, Oliver.”

“She told my parents,” he said after another minute of silence. The tears did fall then, and I let go of his hand so that I could wipe his cheeks. “They called the next day. Told me that-that I was no longer their son, to not bother coming home during holidays or ever. That they were going to tell their friends I had decided to obtain my degree abroad.”

I’d never seen Oliver break down before. He was always the picture of stoicism and strength, for which I admired him. But I also admired his ability to be vulnerable and let me see him like this. “Oh, Oliver, I’m sorry.”

“William and I only saw each other a few times after that and then he just stopped talking to me altogether. I don’t know if my family said something to him or threatened him or if it was of his own volition. That’s why I didn’t want you here, Elio. I don’t want them to see you or know you exist. I don’t want them to ruin this.”

“Even if they did,” I said with a kiss to Oliver’s damp cheek, “they could never take me away from you, Oliver. No matter what they try to do or say, I’m never gonna leave you. You’re my only love.”

“I don’t want them to take you away from me.” He dropped his face into my neck and I immediately wrapped my arms around him. He was shaking, crying in full earnest, and I rubbed his back as he sobbed. “My youngest sister, L-Leah, and my brother, they-they reached out to me a few ti-times over the years but…” He shook his head and I held him tighter.

“Shhh, Oliver, it’s ok. We don’t need to talk about it.” But Oliver kept going.

“I expected the cold shoulder from my dad but my mom… How can a mother totally abandon her own child like that? She and I had been so close growing up. She would show me off at her book club meetings when I was little. Paid for sailing lessons, bought me any book I wanted. Sh-She indulged me as much as my father would allow and then suddenly...nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. I was at a loss for words and I wished I’d been able to come up with something better to say.

“Watching her go down into the ground today -” Oliver stopped talking and let out a heartbreaking cry.

“Okay, okay, shh. We can talk about it more later.” I moved on the bed so that I was sitting up against the headboard and I tugged Oliver with me so that his head was in my lap. He turned and pushed his face into my tummy, obviously wanting to hide his tear tracked cheeks. “It’s alright,” I cooed, carding my fingers through his hair. “That’s it, Oliver, let it out.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pressed closer, his entire body shaking as he cried, and I tried to think of what to do to cheer him up.

“ _Fiorin, Fiorello, l'amore è bello vicino a te…_ ” It was an old Carlo Buti song from the ‘30s that my mother had always sung to me when I was upset. “ _Mi fa sognare, mi fa tremare, chissà perché…_ ” It took a moment for Oliver to realize that I was singing, but once he did, he started to noticeably calm down. “ _Fior di margherita, cos'è mai la vita. Se non c'è l'amore, che il nostro cuore fa palpitar. Fior di verbena, se qualche pena l'amor ci dà… Fa come il vento, che in un momento poi passa e va… Ma quando tu sei con me, io son felice perché. Fiorin, Fiorello, l'amore è bello vicino a te…_ ”

I continued to sing for a while, repeating the song a few times until Oliver’s breathing was back to normal but still dotted with hiccups.

“I’m here now,” I whispered, still combing through his hair. I knew that I’d made the right decision in coming. Oliver needed me there with him, he was just too protective to know at first. I stayed up until Oliver’s breathing evened out and his hold around me went slack. I leaned over and shut the light, but otherwise didn’t move, not wanting to disturb Oliver. “I’m here and I’m not leaving you, Oliver. Not now or ever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! A bit of a shorter one, I know. Comments and kudos always appreciated! 
> 
> Come[Follow Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/)  
>    
> [Fiorin, Fiorello by Carlo Buti](https://youtu.be/qMQZA5FGieo)


	7. Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I got sidetracked with another fic I was working on (Somewhere on Twitter, May 2017 - which you should check out if you want a social media/text message inspired modern Elio/Oliver AU!). Anyways, enjoy the chapter!! ❤️

The next day, I sat in the hotel room for the entire day. Alone. Oliver left around 8:30. I was only half awake when he kissed me goodbye and I tried to pull him back into bed by the lapels of his suit.

“I can’t, baby,” he whispered, combing his fingers through my hair. “I’ll see you tonight. I’ll bring something for dinner, but I left you money to order in for breakfast and lunch.” He kissed me again and was soon gone, back to his parents' house for the second day of Shiva. 

Once I woke up, I took a long shower.

I read my book.

I ate a banana that Oliver had left sitting on the dresser.

I unpacked my suitcase.

I read more of my book.

And then it was only one. I still had  _ hours _ before Oliver got back to the hotel. I bundled up in my coat and boots and trudged out to the main house. Cindy, the same woman from the day before, was at the desk again.

“Hi, dear. You find your uncle okay?”

“I did, yes. Thank you.” I yanked off my hat as I approached the desk. “I was going to order something in for lunch. Did you have any recommendations?”

“Oh, yes! We’ve got plenty of options!” She spun around in her chair, rifled around a bit, and spun back with a large piece of paper. Printed on it were nearby restaurants and their phone numbers. “Here you are, darling. And if you want to get out and see the sights, do let me know! I’m happy to steer you in the right direction.”

“Thanks so much,” I said, taking the paper and slipping my hat back on. “I’ll let you know.” I studied the paper as I walked back to our room. Oliver hadn’t explicitly told me to stay inside. I’d just inferred that’s what he meant by telling me to order in. I pondered this as I let myself back into our room. Why wouldn’t Oliver want me to go outside? All of his family was at Shiva and none of them even knew what I looked like anyway. I sighed and hung up my coat on the rack next to the door. I was overreacting, putting words that didn’t belong in Oliver’s mouth. And besides, it was cold. Why would I want to go out just to freeze my ass off?

I ordered copious amounts of Chinese food, way more than necessary, and ate until I felt bloated and sleepy. I flipped on the TV but fell asleep soon after in the middle of local news programming.

Oliver came back around 7 with dinner as promised. He woke me up from my food coma with kisses to my forehead. His lips and nose were cold and I teasingly pushed him away.

“Hi,” I croaked, sitting up to give him a proper kiss.

“Hey.”

“How was today?”

“It was...fine.”

I hummed and brushed my fingers over his cheek. “What did you bring for dinner?”

“Chinese.” I laughed, pitching forward and resting my head in the crook of his shoulder. “Hey! What’s so funny about lo mein and dumplings?”

“I ordered Chinese for lunch. And  _ a lot _ of it.” 

Oliver chuckled and it was probably the best thing I’d ever heard. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve guessed you’d go for Chinese when left to your own devices.”

“That’s alright. I’ll have it again.” I pulled back and kissed Oliver’s cheek. There was a ghost of his smile on his lips that offset his tired eyes. “It’s not as good as Shun Lee’s at home, but it’ll do.”

We sat at the tiny table in the room, sharing lo mein and dumplings between us. We left our fortune cookies for later and I urged Oliver to take a shower while I cleaned up. Once he emerged, freshly bathed and in his pajamas, the room was cleared of all leftovers and I had the sheets perfectly tucked under the mattress just as Oliver liked. 

“How was  _ your _ day?” he asked as we climbed into bed. It was still early, so I grabbed the TV remote and flipped it on.

“It was alright. Read my book. Took a nap.” We settled next to each other on the bed, Oliver slumped against my side with his head on my shoulder.

“I was thinking of going out tomorrow,” I said casually as I flipped through the channels. “Check out the town.”

“I...don't know if that’s the best idea, Elio.”

“Why not?” I settled on a rerun of SNL. We’d already seen the episode, but it was better than the local channels. 

“People might -”

“Might what, Oliver? Recognize me? No one even  _ knows _ about me. And besides, your whole family is gonna be sitting shiva. And I really don’t want to spend the last day of 1986 stuck in a hotel room.”

“I -” Oliver stopped and sighed and I knew I had won. “Fine. Just. Be careful.”

“I will,” I promised with a kiss to the top of Oliver’s head. We watched TV for a bit, until we were both yawning, and I finally shut the light around 10. We snuggled up under the covers, Oliver’s chest to my back and his arms around my waist. 

“I wish they weren’t like this,” Oliver said a while later. I was still up, but I thought Oliver had already fallen asleep.

“I know,” I whispered into the darkness. My hands found his and we wound our fingers together. 

“You and my littlest sister would probably get along.”

“Leah, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you can give her a call when we get back home. Where does she live?”

“In New York, actually.” 

“Oliver, are you kidding? Your sister lives in New York and you’ve never reached out?”

“To be fair, she never reached out to me.”

“You said she did a little. In the beginning.”

“Yeah, she and my brother.”

“Is he in the city too?”

“No, Connecticut.”

“Hmm. Something to think about.”

“Yeah.” We fell quiet again, only noise now the sound of our breathing and the radiator.

“How’s your dad?”

“I wouldn’t know. He hasn't said a word to me.”

“Fuck, Oliver.” I rolled over so that we could face each other and I could just barely make him out in the darkness of our room. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” he said, his fingers finding mine again. 

“It’s not alright. No parent should treat their own child like that.”

“I know, baby.” He kissed my fingertips and then settled back on the pillow. “Sleep,” he said finally. “You’ve got a big day of exploring tomorrow.”

The next morning, Oliver left me with a kiss again. I woke up an hour after Oliver departed and wrapped myself up in my warmest sweater, coat, and boots. I draped my camera around my neck, glad I’d lugged it along once I finally stepped foot in the town proper. It was nothing short of adorable: every storefront was decorated for Christmas, fairy lights hung from awnings, lamp posts were wrapped in evergreen, and everything was covered in a soft white blanket of snow. I snapped photos as I made my way down the main street, scoping out local businesses as I went. 

I stopped into a small bakery once I’d lapped the main street once and settled at a small table in the back. I settled into the comfy chair and pulled out my book, content to sit there for a few hours with a coffee and many pastries. Once full, I ventured back out into the cold to resume my semi-aimless walking and picture snapping. I tried to imagine a younger Oliver running around on a less-snowy version of the street. Perhaps sprinting down to the lake with his brother or teaching his sister how to ride her bike in the lot behind the library. 

That night, we turned on Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve and watched the festivities from the warmth of our bed. We kissed at midnight and I told him I loved him over and over as we rang in 1986.

We carried on for much of the same for the days after: Oliver leaving me early in the morning before I headed out for pastries and coffee and a look around the copious antique stores where I purchased some small trinkets. Oliver would come back with dinner in the evenings and we’d watch TV in silence until we fell asleep. Everything was fine until the sixth day we were there. It was Saturday, the second to last day of Shiva, and Oliver didn’t come back to the hotel until 9. As soon as he came in, I hopped out of bed to help him with his coat and scarf.

“God, I was so worried,” I said as I tried to get him to lift his head so that I could take off his scarf. “The weather has been terrible all day. I thought you got into an accident or something.” He finally lifted his head and revealed a nasty looking black eye. His eye was swollen shut and already turning a deep purple. The skin around the bruise was pink and raw and his cheek was bright red. I reached up to touch his cheek, but he shrugged me off. “Oliver…”

“Not right now.” He locked himself in the bathroom for upwards of an hour. The shower was on for about 10 minutes, but he was otherwise quiet. When he finally came out, I was reading, and I watched from over the top of my book as he dressed in his pajamas. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked as Oliver got into bed. He settled down with his back to me.

“No.”

“Oliver -”

“Goodnight.”

I sighed, marked my page, and switched off the light. I snuggled up behind Oliver, pushing my forehead into his shoulder and pressing close. “Elio,” I whispered, rubbing my hand over his side. “Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio.” He didn’t answer, didn’t even move or make a single sound except for his breathing.

“Oliver,” he finally sighed an unknown amount of time later. He rolled onto his other side so we were facing each other and he pressed his face into my neck. “Oliver.”

“C’mon, talk to me. That’s why I’m here.”

“Finally talked to my dad.”

“Shit. What happened, baby?”

“I tried to tell him that I was happy. That I had a partner and a good job and a nice apartment. He finally snapped...said some nasty things.”

“And he hit you?”

“Yeah. After everyone left.”

“Were your siblings still there?”

“Yeah.”

“And they didn’t do anything?” Oliver just shook his head. His shoulders started to tremble under my fingers and I soon felt the telltale wetness of tears against my neck. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“But -”

“I don’t care that it’s the last day of Shiva. It’s not safe for you to be there. We’re leaving tomorrow.” Oliver was quiet after that and I pet his hair until he fell asleep. 

I woke up before him the next morning and went about packing our bags. When the alarm on the bedside table went off, I ran over and slammed my fist down to turn it off in hopes that it wouldn’t disturb Oliver. I was, however, too late, and Oliver shifted and groaned.

“I don’t want to get up.”

“You don’t have to. Stay in bed, Oliver. I’m gonna finish packing.”

“Leave out my suit. I gotta go to the house.”

“No. I meant what I said last night.”

“I can’t miss the last day. All my parents’ friends are going to wonder where I went.”

“Yeah, and they’re going to wonder where you got that black eye if you show up.”

“Fuck.” Oliver ran a hand through his hair and I perched on the edge of the bed.

“Just rest for right now.” I leaned down to kiss his forehead. “How’s your eye feel?”

“Hurts like hell.” 

“I’ve got some Advil in the bathroom.” I made to get up but Oliver grabbed my wrist. 

“Stay. For just a second.”

“We can stay right here for as long as you’d like,” I assured as I pushed Oliver's hair off his forehead. I sat with him until he fell asleep again and then I went back to packing our bags. By the time it was 11:30, we were ready to go. I helped Oliver get into the car, as his eye was swollen shut and he was still groggy from a night of fitful sleeping. 

“You really shouldn’t be driving,” he said again as I slid into the driver’s seat and stuck the key in the ignition. “You don’t have a license.”

“Well, you surely can’t drive with your eye like that.” I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I switched on the wipers to rid the windshield of snow before slowly pulling out onto the road. “I’m gonna drive slow, don’t worry.”

We made it to the train station in one piece, returned the car to the rental service, and had enough time to buy mediocre coffee while we waited for our train. We boarded the train fairly soon after and I stowed our luggage on the rack above us as Oliver got situated in the window seat. I sat behind him, attempting to shield him from the rest of the passengers’ prying eyes. Oliver kept his forehead pressed against the window and, as soon as the train was in motion, I placed my hand on his thigh. He immediately tensed and tried to pull away, but I stood my ground and kept my hand where it was.

“We’re gonna be home soon,” I whispered, glancing over at him. “I know you’re supposed to go back on Monday, but maybe you should call in. Take the next week off.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, his breath fogging up the window, “that’s what I was thinking.”

“I can take off too if you want. I’m sure my professors won’t mind.”

“No, no. I can’t ask you to do that.” 

I squeezed his leg. “You’re not. I’m offering.”

“It’s okay. Your schedule isn’t too bad this semester. You’ll be home a lot.”

“Yeah.” I squeezed his leg again and closed my eyes for the remainder of our journey.

Oliver called the head of his department when we got back and he was given a two week bereavement period. On Sunday, I let Oliver sleep in while I trekked out to the grocery store to restock our fridge and pick up some ice packs for Oliver’s eye. I caught up on readings and homework that afternoon while Oliver did our laundry. I hesitated to leave him on Monday and offered again to stay home with him, but he sent me off to class with a kiss.

Thus, the second semester of my sophomore year began.

I had off on Wednesdays and Fridays but the other three days were heavy with classes and 1:1 lessons with Professor Kuznetsov. My first day back was long and exhausting, and I was desperate to be back with Oliver in our apartment.

By the time I got home on Monday, Oliver was still in his pajamas, but he’d moved from our bed to the couch.

“How was your day?” he asked as I took off my hat and coat.

“Busy. Long.” I hung everything up, toed off my boots, and came over to kiss his forehead. “How’s the eye?”

“Hurts.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He just sighed and I perched on the arm of the couch and started running my fingers through his hair. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Anything.”

I ended up ordering pizza because I couldn’t fathom cooking anything.

We continued like that for the first week. By Sunday, Oliver was still answering with one word. He never left the apartment and constantly cycled through his pajamas. His eye was still swollen and terribly bruised and it bothered him a lot at night, making for horrible sleep patterns for the both of us.

“I think you should see someone,” I said finally on Sunday afternoon. We were in our study, Oliver laying across the couch with his head in my lap.

“Like...a shrink?”

“Maybe. Or Mark. What do you think?”

He was quiet again and I waited patiently for his response.

“Can you come with me?”

“If you want to see a therapist we’ll have to find someone who is okay with me being your partner. I don’t want to hide that from someone in therapy.”

“Can we start with Mark?”

“Sure. How about I try to set up a time for Wednesday?”

“Thanks, Elio.”

“I’d do anything for you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I called Mark on Monday morning from a payphone near school. I explained to him the very basics of the situation: that Oliver’s mother had died, his family abandoned him when he was younger, and that his father hit him when he was back in Providence for the funeral. He agreed, of course, to see us on Wednesday at 10:00 am at his office, and when I told Oliver he actually smiled a little.

“I like Mark. He’s a good man,” he said before going back to the book he was reading.

When we got to Mark’s, Oliver and I settled on the couch and Mark in an overstuffed armchair. We exchanged brief pleasantries about the holidays and the start of school. After, the room was quiet, and we all just stared at one another before Mark started the conversation.

“Oliver, Elio told me a little about what happened,” he said slowly. I reached out and took Oliver’s hand. His palm was sweaty and his fingers were tight and clenched. I gently pried his fingers apart and laced ours together. “I’m so sorry. No one should have to deal with all of this on top of a parent passing away.”

Oliver nodded, but stayed quiet.

“Mark said we can talk about whatever you want,” I said, patting Oliver’s hand with my free one. “We don’t just have to talk about your family. Just...whatever comes to mind.”

Oliver sighed and closed his eyes, tipping his head back so that it was resting on the back of the couch. I looked over at Mark worriedly and he just nodded, obviously signaling that we needed to give Oliver time.

“Why -” Oliver’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Why does this stuff keep happening to us? Why does God let these things happen to us?” I knew, when he said that, that his woes far transcended losing his mother. We were losing members of our own community day by day. Gay men were being cast out of their homes, shunned by their families and friends. By comparison, Oliver and I had it pretty good. “Why does he have it out for me?”

“I can’t answer those questions, Oliver,” Mark said after a few more quiet moments. “But here’s what I will say in response: I don’t think God is a man. At least in the traditional sense...or in any sense at all really. The idea that God is a white man sitting on a cloud passing judgment is patriarchal, especially the Catholic God, as that religion traces back to a Middle Eastern country on the Mediterranean Sea.” Oliver actually chuckled at that and I smiled. “Whenever I find myself thinking about what God is and what God isn’t, I am often confused. And when I try to find solutions to my misunderstandings, I muddy my misunderstandings with further misunderstandings. I toil at my desk with coffee or whiskey and a blank page in front of me when I’m trying to write a sermon. I toil and wonder what on Earth it is to believe in God and to not believe in God.”

We chatted with Mark a bit more, but mostly spoke about Oliver’s return to work on the following Monday and how he can physically cope with all of this by getting enough sleep and making sure to indulge in some self-care. As we walked to the subway from Mark’s office, Oliver took my hand. I smiled and squeezed his fingers. He rarely initiated public displays of affection, and I loved him all the more when he did.

“Who or...or  _ what _ do you think God is, Elio?”

“I -” I’d never given the question much thought and I didn’t answer until we were on the train. It was nearly empty and we sat huddled close together. I had been raised Jewish, but we rarely went to Temple. Everyone I knew in Italy was Catholic, and we were, of course, surrounded by religious iconography everywhere we went: statuettes of Mary or saints embedded into the sides of buildings, a church looming overhead in the piazza of any town, tiny chapels around every corner. “What God might be is that God might not be at all,” I said finally, resting my head on Oliver’s shoulder.

“That’s...bleak.”

“Sure, it’s bleak. But God might not be there to judge you or to tell you who to fuck and who not to fuck. What to steal and what to buy. And...and in the case of the non-existence of a higher power, you are a god.  _ You _ are morality, spinning round and round, arm sky-high, and for what? For the performance of it all. For your desperation not to be deified in the non-existence of what you want to believe. You wonder if God doesn’t exist, does it invalidate the morality with which I was raised. If God doesn’t exist, what does it say about my education? What will happen to my parents when they die? What happened to those who went before me? If God doesn’t exist, where will I go in that moment when my brain ceases to function. If God doesn’t exist where does that awareness go?”

I stopped there, now sitting up straight and breathing hard. My head was spinning and I could barely see straight.

“Shit,” I said, “I think I just had an existential crisis.”

“It’s very easy to get existential about God,” Oliver said, resigned, and I could tell that he’d probably had many of these crises already. “Easy to get wrapped up in how depressing it sounds. But we all continue on until we return to the ground. For we are dust, and to dust we will return. As simple and as depressing and as liberating is that...Liberation is, I suppose, when you only have to live for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to get existential there at the end lol!!! Comments/Criticisms/Kudos always welcome!!
> 
> As always, [Follow Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/) so we can scream about these boys!!! :)


	8. What feeds me destroys me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW it's been a hot sec. I've had some major writer's block with this fic, mainly because I know where I want it to go but I'm just having trouble getting there. The doc for this chapter was just a bunch of question marks for a LONG while. But I'm REALLY hoping that now that this chapter is out I'll be able to really get goin' on the rest of this. Alright - short chapter, but enjoy!

Oliver took his two weeks to relax, catch up on sleep, and let his eye heal. By the time he returned to work the third week of January, he had just a faint ring of purple under his eye and across the bridge of his nose. 

“It looks a lot better,” I said Sunday night as I inspected his eye under the bright bathroom lights. “How’s it feel?”

“Okay. Still a little tender. Especially at night.”

I rose onto my tiptoes to kiss under his eye and across his cheek. “It’ll feel better soon.”

“Promise?”

I smiled at how small Oliver sounded. “I promise. C’mon, time for bed.”

We’d met with Mark a week after our first meeting and decided upon recurring meetings for Wednesday evenings. I noticed that, with the added rest, Oliver was starting to come back to his old self. I was worried about what might happen when he returned to teaching, but I figured that our meetings with Mark would help smooth things over. We were also due to return to our volunteer post at the center on that Friday, and I hoped that seeing some familiar faces would help too.

Oliver’s first week back at work went surprisingly well. The substitute that filled in for him started his new students for the semester on their syllabi and he returned to a group of already well-read students. Luckily, he’d taught most of them already during previous semesters, so he didn’t have to go through learning too many new names.

The week went far too slow for my liking. Even our appointment with Mark felt like it was dragging on. I ached for the weekend, for blessedly free days during which Oliver and I could curl up in our warm apartment and read a book. 

Going back to the AIDS Resource Center really seemed to brighten Oliver’s mood. The patients were more sprightly than usual, an overflow of holiday cheer into the New Year. After making our first rounds, Jeffrey took us aside and hugged Oliver tight.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said softly so that we weren’t overheard. 

“Thanks.” Oliver plastered on a smile as best he could and I took his hand and squeezed it. 

“You’re gonna be okay, handsome,” Jeffrey assured. “And you’ve got the best caretaker.” He ruffled my hair and I huffed teasingly, which made Oliver laugh. We spent the afternoon playing rummy with Alondro and his group of friends, and there was a smile on Oliver’s face the entire time.

“I’ve missed you,” I said as we walked home from the subway later that night, my hand firmly in his. It was 1986. I wouldn’t stand to not hold my boyfriend’s hand on the street, regardless of where we were.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver whispered, and I shook my head.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“No. I’m sorry I tried to make you stay at home for the funeral. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“I’m just glad I was able to get there.” I huddled against him as he unlocked the door to our building and then let him kiss me as we waited for the elevator. I was glad, for the first time ever, that our elevator was old and slow. Oliver’s hands framed my face and my own fingers latched onto his coat as he tipped my head back and licked into my mouth. The elevator dinged and we regrettably stepped apart, but as soon as we were in our apartment, Oliver had me against his chest again.

“I love you, Elio,” he whispered as he pushed an errant curl off my forehead.

“Love you too. So much. Should I -” Oliver started kissing down my neck and I gasped, pressing into him. “I should make dinner.”

“Leave it,” he murmured against my throat. “We’ll order in later. Need you now.” Oliver nipped at the base of my throat and I whined as he smoothed it over with his tongue.

We hadn’t fucked since the night before we found out his mother had died. It had been far too long and we were both panting against one another as soon as we were out of our coats.

“Oliver,” I sighed, letting him strip me of my clothes right there in the living room. “Oliver, please.”

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you.” It felt natural and right but I somehow felt like  _ I _ should be the one reassuring and taking care of  _ Oliver _ . He tugged me into the bedroom once I was down to just my boxers.

“Oliver, please. Let me.” He hesitated for a second, but finally let me undress him as well. I went slow, letting my fingers trail over his warm skin as it was exposed. Soon enough, we were both naked and half-hard, unable to keep our hands off one another.

We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Oliver on top. He began rolling his hips against mine and I arched against him. He hummed and lapped along my neck before kissing up to my lips. “Feel okay?” he asked as he wrapped his hand around both of our cocks.

“God, so good.” I was dizzy with how fantastic it felt, my muscles twitching as Oliver stroked us both in tandem. “Fuck, how do you do that?” I asked, already breathless.

Oliver laughed against my neck and it was the best sound I ever heard. “Do what?” 

“Get me so close so  _ fast _ .” I groaned and pulled Oliver’s hair hard until he finally got the memo and kissed me again. He kept his pace fast as he jacked us off, but kissed me slow and deep and unhurried, causing the hair to raise up on my arms. We were both leaking steadily, our cocks red and hard and hot.

“Baby,” Oliver gasped out as he pulled back to take a breath. “Baby, ‘m close.”

“Me too.”

“Can I - Can I come on you?”

“Please. Please, want you to.”

He did, just a moment later. Oliver went tense above me, his hand stilling for a moment before he spilled over my stomach and my own cock. It took him a second to remember I hadn’t yet come, mostly from my whining and wriggling, and he quickly resumed his fast pace, now with the added lubrication of his come. It was my turn just a moment later, every muscle in my body jumping and tensing as I was pushed over the edge.

Oliver rolled off of me and flopped down on his side of the bed. We lay there, still panting, the room now smelling sticky sweet with our release. We were pressed up against one another, our fingers looped together between our bodies. 

“When we first met - I didn’t think we would ever -”

“Me neither.”

There was silence then and I turned my head on the pillow to find him staring at me. His eyes were blue speckled with grey, strong and unwavering. Something rose up within me and made its home in my throat.

_ I’ll never leave you, Oliver. It will always be like this: you and me. Together.  _

I wished I had the words to actually say what I was feeling out loud. But nothing I could come up with seemed big enough. He tightened his fingers on mine and squeezed. His fingers were etched into my memory since that first night: strong and deft. He spoke as if he had read my mind.

“Elio,” he said. He was always better with words than I.

The next morning I awoke light-headed, warm and at ease wrapped in the covers with Oliver’s hand resting on my tummy. After our quick exchange of handjobs, the night before had come  _ more and more and more _ . We had been slower then, letting the night stretch on and on. He seemed better over the past few days, more himself, but as I watched him stir beside me, I was suddenly nervous, worried that the spell was broken and that he would be back to glowering and moping and hiding his tears. But then he was awake, smiling sleepily when he caught sight of me watching him. He reached for my hand and the corners of my own lips turned up. We came together, our love so bright we could see nothing but each other.

Over the next few weeks, Oliver’s mood fluctuated from day to day. I watched him from my spot on the sofa in our study. It was a Thursday evening, just past 5 and already dark out. He was hunched over his desk, grading exams, wearing grey sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. I was reminded of his bathing suits in Crema a few summers before, how they each represented a different part of Oliver’s personality. It was one of those days then, one of the days he would lock himself in the bathroom and emerge upwards of an hour later, tear stains on his sweatshirt. I learned, by this point, not to press him about it, that it would just agitate him.

I thought back on the past few weeks, on what he’d chosen from his wardrobe. There were days he wore only shirts like Billowy, even to sleep. Those days I felt like he ached to be more like his old self. That he was trying to get over this new hole in his chest, an attempt to bridge the gap between then and now.

And on the days he wore faded, soft NYU shirts, there were no tears, no outbursts, no winces at loud noises. Those were the days he was most like himself. Out of his depressive moods and more eager to socialize.

“Hey.” I pushed myself off the couch and draped myself over Oliver’s back. “You want tea? Gonna go make some.”

“No.”

I kissed his shoulder over the fabric of his sweatshirt. “How about a snack?”

He shrugged his shoulder out from under me and sighed. “No.”

“Okay. Let me know if you want anything.”

“I said no.”

I stood and shoved my hands into my pockets. “Right. Yeah. ‘m sorry.” I went and made my tea and decided to spend the rest of the evening in the living room to give Oliver a little space. I watched TV until I could barely keep my eyes open. “Going to bed!” I called as I shuffled into our bedroom.

“Mmh.” 

“Will you come to bed soon?”

“Sure.”

Oliver didn’t come to bed for another hour. I tossed and turned the entire time until he finally got under the covers. I turned to snuggle up against him and smiled when he wrapped his arms around me.

“Have you noticed I haven’t been keeping the window open?” I murmured against Oliver’s chest. It was my usual move in the winter to keep a window cracked and then roll myself up in the blankets.

“Mmh. I have.” He kissed the top of your head. “Never thought I’d say this, but I kinda miss your cold feet in the mornings.”

“I can totally go and open it,” I teased, pushing off his chest to go open the window.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Oliver pulled me tight against his chest and I giggled as Oliver pulled the covers over our heads.

“Love you, Oliver.”

“Love you too, baby.” He kissed my head again and I was asleep in seconds.

It was only three hours later when Oliver bolted upright with a shout. I was startled awake and shot up as well. He was sweating and breathing hard. “Oliver,” I said hesitantly, sitting up and reaching out to touch his shoulder. As soon as I did, he turned to press his face into my chest. It took me a second, but I finally moved so that he could curl up comfortably with his head in my lap. “You’re okay,” I whispered, carding my fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. You’re here at home with me.”

“Elio, th-they -” He was trembling and he pushed his face into my tummy.

“Shhh, baby. Please don’t cry, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“They tried. They tried to take you away.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured, holding him close. “We’re here together. No one's gonna take me away.” It took him another hour to calm down and when he finally did, he was left with red eyes and bad hiccups. “Hey,” I whispered, pushing his hair off his forehead, “look at me.”

He did, turning his head up in my lap and squinting up at me in the darkness. “Don’t leave me.”

“I promise you, Oliver. I will never  _ ever _ leave you.” I urged him up and wiped his cheeks. “Why don’t you go wash your face, brush your teeth? I’ll be right here when you get back.” 

Oliver nodded and I kissed him before he headed to the bathroom. I stripped the sheets and remade the bed while he freshened up and even cracked the window a bit. I flipped on a small lamp on our dresser, the light casting the room in a soft golden glow. He came back in, stripped naked, and I took off my own boxers before we got into bed.

“Thank you,” Oliver murmured as we snuggled up under the covers, facing one another. 

“Are -” I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to upset Oliver. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. Eventually.” 

I smiled, albeit sadly, and traced my fingers over the bridge of his nose and over his cheek. “I’m not gonna leave you,” I reassured. “And no one will  _ ever _ separate us.”

He nodded and moved closer so that our noses were nearly touching. He reached out and tugged at my curls. “Your hair never quite lies flat. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I like it.”

My scalp tingled where his fingers massaged into my head and a shiver rolled down my spine. “You haven’t.”

“I should have.” He trailed his fingers down to the base of my throat. My pulse jumped under his fingers. “What about this? Have I told you what I think of this, right here?”

I shook my head.

He moved his fingers across my chest and goosebumps rose up over my skin in the wake of his fingers. He tweaked at one of my nipples. “Surely this. Have I told you how much I liked this?”

I arched my back and pressed into the touch. “You have.” My breath hitched and my voice cracked.

He huffed a laugh and drew his fingers down over my protruding hip bone. “And here? Have I told you how much I like this?”

“Mmhm.”

Oliver’s fingers crept from my hip to the spot between my legs, through soft dark hairs and around the base of my cock. “And this?” A cheshire smile. “Tell me I didn’t forget.”

“Y-You didn’t.”

His hand slipped between my legs brushing over my balls and over my perineum. He slipped his finger between my cheeks and pressed against my hole. “There’s this, too.” His hand was warm and his fingers ceaseless. “I  _ know _ I have told you how much I love  _ this _ .”

I closed my eyes. “Tell me again,” I requested.

_ Tell me. Show me. This and this and this and more and more. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also been waist deep in my other series, Follow Me, which is a Modern AU in which Elio and Oliver meet on Twitter! [You can find it here!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1099476)
> 
> Comments/Criticisms/Kudos always welcome!!
> 
> As always, [Follow Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/) so we can scream about these boys!!! :)


	9. Like his fair eyes the day was fair, but scorching like his am’rous care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 10 days since the last chapter! That's not TOO bad, right?! ;) Enjoy!!

January and February passed in some sort of weird, dream-like haze. The days seemed to slip by quickly, but the weeks drew on and on in a repetitive cycle.

Oliver and I would leave for our respective schools at the same time on Mondays and Tuesdays. We’d come home, noses red from the cold, do homework and eat dinner, watch a movie, and go to sleep. We both had off on Wednesdays, so we’d go to our weekly appointment with Mark at 10. After, if Oliver was feeling up to it, we would go out for lunch or coffee. We’d spend the rest of the afternoon at a museum (often the Met) before heading home to start our school-day routine on Thursday.

Fridays were devoted to the AIDS Resource Center. We would arrive at 10 am on the dot and, instead of leaving by midday, we’d stay and volunteer until 5. The center was grateful for our dedication, and it was always nice to spend the day with Jeffrey. Weekends were spent in our apartment, hiding away from the cold and snow. We’d sleep in, read our books, catch up on homework, kiss until our heads spun.

I was desperate for summer, or for a break in the monotony at least. I wanted to ride our bikes, spend time in Central Park, not have to worry about work or school. But summer was still _months_ away.

March 16th was Oliver’s birthday, and I’d been planning the perfect celebration for months. It was a Monday, but I’d convinced him that we should both play hookey. I even set up a surprise birthday dinner to be attended by all of our friends. I woke him up on the morning of the 16th with kisses all over his shoulders and down his back.

“Morning,” I whispered against his sleep-warm skin. He groaned and shifted under me, which made me laugh. “Happy birthday, Tesoro.”

“Ugh, please don’t call me that. It reminds me of your mom.”

“But you are,” I pressed, rolling off Oliver and onto my side so that I could look at him. “You’re my tesoro. My treasure, my love, my _everything_.” Oliver opened his eyes at that and my breath stuttered in my throat. No matter how many hours I spent looking at him, I’d never get over how absolutely gorgeous he was.

“Come here, my everything.” Oliver rolled onto his back and pulled me with him until I was settled between his legs. “Fuck me, Oliver.”

Those words, _my_ _words from so many years ago_ , but from his lips, lit a fire in my belly. We’d been intimate after the funeral of course, but he’d only fucked me once since then. “Are...are you sure?” I asked, pushing up onto my forearms so I could look down at Oliver.

“Completely.” He looked up at me and I marveled at how young he looked. I leaned down and kissed him then, heedless of morning breath. I could think only of him, of his body, of how he would soon be tight and hot around me.

I grabbed the lube, thankful that we slept naked so that there was no time wasted in wiggling out of pajamas. I coated my fingers and tossed the tube aside for later before settling back between Oliver’s legs. He had them spread, feet planted on the bed.

“Put a pillow under your back,” I instructed, nudging Oliver’s knees apart just a bit more. I could see that he was about to argue, but I quickly interjected. “Believe me. I did it last time you fucked me like this and _fuck_ it was so good.”

That kicked Oliver into gear, which made me chuckle, and he scrambled to shove a pillow under the curve of his lower back. “Does this work for you, Your Majest- _ahh_.”

I pressed my index finger into Oliver, all the way down to the hilt, and wriggled it for a moment before pulling out again. “Yes, this works for me.” I then pressed both my index and pointer fingers in, both of us hissing. Oliver’s hole fluttered around my fingers and I nearly came on the spot. “Feeling okay?”

“Fuck yeah.” Oliver looked blissed out already, head thrown back on the pillows, hair all askew. I leaned down and peppered kisses over his neck as I fingered him open, drawing out tiny little sounds as I repeatedly pressed the pads of my fingers against his prostate.

“D’you think you’re ready for me?” I asked once I could comfortably scissor my fingers. I was desperate to be inside him, to feel him all around me as I brought him closer to orgasm.

“Please. Fuck, Elio, please.”

I lubed up my cock and, just a few seconds later, I was sliding into Oliver. “Jesus.” He was tight and wet and hot and I dropped my forehead to his. “I love you. _God_ , I love you.”

“Hope - I hope you don’t love me just f-for my body.” Oliver was breathless but teasing and I laughed against his lips.

“Mmmh. Mostly your body. But the other stuff isn’t bad.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.” I pushed my hips forward a little more and Oliver groaned. “I love your mind. The way you think and the way you say things. Love the way you love me.”

“Elio,” Oliver whined, a flush of embarrassment high on his cheeks.

“What, you want me to stop?”

“No! No, _God_ no. Please never stop.”

I laughed and rolled my hips until I was fully inside Oliver. “I love how giving you are. How sweet and kind and caring. I love your eyelashes and your lips and the bridge of your nose. And I fucking _love_ your cock.”

“And I love the way you fuck me.” Oliver nudged my side with his knee. “C’mon.”

That got me going. I began thrusting my hips, keeping the pace steady and slow at first before Oliver started to beg. “I got you,” I whispered, picking up the pace. I snaked a hand between us and wrapped my fingers around his cock. “You feel okay?”

“God, more than okay. More. More, more, _fuck_.”

I pulled back just a little to take stock. Oliver looked happier than I’d seen him in weeks. His hair was a mess and his eyes were bright and - “Have I mentioned I love you?”

“Once or twice.”

I couldn’t help but kiss him again, swooping in and capturing those perfect lips. I licked into his mouth, loving his moans as he surged up into the kiss. I moved my hand faster over his cock, desperate to bring him off before me.

“Shit,” he whispered against my lips, pulling back just a little bit to try and catch his breath. “I’m gonna come, baby.” I grinned as Oliver called out my name, and then his own, over and over until he came, cock hot and throbbing in my hand.

Oliver’s hole fluttered around my cock and, just two thrusts later, my balls were drawing up and my muscles were trembling and I was -

I was coming, hard and sudden as I buried myself deep inside Oliver.

“Love it when you come inside me.” Oliver’s voice was gruff and full of adoration.

“God. I love it too. Happy birthday, Oliver.” I kissed him again. Kissed him and kissed him and _kissed him_ until I was soft inside him.

We showered and went out for breakfast at Oliver’s favorite diner, Oliver opting for a large stack of banana walnut pancakes.

“So what’s the plan for the day?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, birthday boy.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“Well, I was thinking we could start at the Met.”

“Alright. Good start.”

And that’s just what we did after breakfast. We headed over to the Met, thankful for the break from the snow and cold. I’d been planning on going to the Guggenheim after, but we ended up spending nearly the entire day at the Met, linking our fingers together whenever we found ourselves alone. ”How is it already 5:30?” I asked as we finally left, heading down the makn stairs towards Fifth Avenue. I dashed out past the curb and raised my arm to hail a taxi.

We snuggled up in the back of the cab, pressed up against one another and lacing together our cold fingers.

“Le Bernardin?” Oliver gasped as we pulled up.

“Yep.” I paid the cabbie and nudged Oliver out of the back seat, eager to get him into the back room where all of our friends were waiting.

I took Oliver’s hand as the maître d'hôtel led us back. He glanced down at me, but any protest was dead on his lips once we bypassed pretty much every table in the main dining room. “Elio… What did you -”

The door to the back room was opened and everyone in attendance, every single one of our friends, leapt up. There was an overwhelming round of, “Surprise!” and Oliver squeezed my hand.

 _Everyone_ was there. Mark and his partner. Jeffrey and two other volunteers from the center. Sharon, Debs, Hugh, Grant, Michael, and all of their respective partners. Amanda and Pat, Matt and Cassidy.

“Elio,” Oliver whispered, turning to me with a huge smile. “Elio, did you… Did you plan all of this for _me_?”

“I did.”

He laughed, threw his head back and _really laughed_ , before leaning down and kissing me hard. “I love you. _Fuck_ , I love you, baby.”

Bottles of wine were ordered, appetizers and entrées and desserts were shared between friends, birthday cake was cut. By the end of the night, Oliver and I were both drunk and full and couldn’t stop smiling. We all left in a big group, stumbling down the sidewalk in a loud mass of laughter and chatter. We ended up going to a bar down the street, and Oliver tugged me off to the side once we both got our drinks.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Oliver whispered.

“No need to thank me. I wanted to, baby. Wanted to show you how much you’re loved.” Everyone there showered Oliver with affection the entire night, as expected. He was easy to love, a good friend to everyone, and I wanted him to see that, especially after how much he’d been struggling.

“I’m so -” He cleared his throat and looked down, averting his gaze. “I’m so glad we got together, Elio. That doesn’t - It doesn’t really encapsulate how I feel but -”

I leaned in and nudged Oliver’s nose with my own before capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

_I love you, Oliver. I love you, I love you, I love you._

Before we could sneak off, Grant snatched Oliver away from me just as Matt and Cassidy looped their arms over my shoulders.

"Time for shots!" Cassidy shouted, and I could smell the tequila on her breath. " _Lots_ of shots."

We didn’t get back to the apartment until 4 am. It was tough to get up for work the next morning, but we powered through, still riding the high from our successful night out with our friends.

At the Center on Friday, after making our rounds with the drink cart, Oliver and I headed to Alondro’s room. It was usually where all the action was happening, but that day the room was quiet. The bed next to Alondro’s was empty.

“Is James out for tests?” I asked hesitantly, sitting down on the empty bed. Oliver sat next to me and threaded our fingers together

Alondro looked over with a sad smile. “Hey, chico. No, he uh...he’s left us.”

I should have seen that coming, should have known, but it still hit me hard. “I’m -”

“Let me guess - you’re sorry?”

“Fuck.”

“It’s alright, Elio. It’ll happen to all of us at some point. It’s the universe, it’s fate, it’s the way of the world. It’s our common language. The way things are. It’s science, it’s Thursdays, it’s facts. It’s the lights still on in the bar across the street while walking up 9th Avenue and you pop in and leave with a man you’ve never met. And you’re 30 and walking the no man’s land between horny non-existence and wanting to make a bonafide difference in the world.” Alondro snorted, tipped his head back onto the pillows, and closed his eyes. “But it’s 3 am and can’t social change wait until after you’ve curled yourself up under the tattooed arms of this muscle daddy? But the bourbon has made things difficult for you and he came inside you but you can’t even get it up and he says, ‘Hey, it’s okay, come here.’ And drapes his heavy arm over your torso and holds you close but you’re a light sleeper and you wait for him to move so you can flip onto your stomach but you _still_ can’t sleep because you’re anxious with new people and new beds and new sheets and new noises.”

I looked over at Oliver, eyes wide. But he just shook his head, signaling for me to let Alondro continue.

“You leave while he’s still asleep and you don’t leave a note because a man that sculpted will never want to fuck you sober. You’re running on 2 hours of fitful sleep and need more coffee than you can afford to make it through to the next night. You skip going to the gym and you head back up to your room where you see the bed you forgot to make before leaving for work yesterday. And you shower and get your act together and put on a shirt that looks just like the one you wore yesterday. You steal a little of your roommate's concealer and apply it in an effort to make the bags beneath your eyes disappear, but the tone of your skin doesn’t match the tone of hers and so you look paler than you intended.

But you need to get to the subway, you need to get to work. You get there just barely on time and you clock in and you make it through and you wonder if you’ll make the change in the world or if you’ll just walk up 9th Avenue again tonight, tomorrow night, the night after until, a few months later, you find out you're sick, that you’re gonna die. It’s not God: it’s the universe, it’s fate, it’s the way of the world. It’s our common language. The way things are. It’s science, it’s Thursdays, it’s facts.”

“Alondro,” Oliver’s voice was soft and I blinked, realizing only then that my cheeks were tracked with tears.

“I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say, and Oliver squeezed my hand.

“It’s all the same and it’s always been the same,” Oliver whispered. “There’s always been greed and there’s always been pain and love and deceit and death and crime and hate and grief and heartbreak. Those stories have always been there, and maybe _they_ should be our common language going forward, not the lens through which we view them. Maybe that’s the first step towards making that authentic change you want to make in the world before we all die. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Mortality? To ensure that we don’t step off this mortal coil having left nothing behind but a carbon footprint. We want to make an impact. Or at the very least, the first flaps in the wind of a butterfly effect that starts a movement.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting quietly with Alondro, my head on Oliver’s shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked later as Oliver and I walked to the subway.

“I’m...alright.” He sighed and looked down at me. “Just been thinking a lot lately.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I’m -”

“I know you’re always here for me, Elio. And I want to thank you for that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But _I do_. The past few weeks have been...weird. I feel like I’ve been stuck on a loop.”

I chuckled and took his hand. “Me too, oddly enough.”

“If it weren’t for you, Elio, I don’t know if I’d even be here.”

“Oliver, don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I - You and your family changed _everything_ for me. I never felt loved or accepted like that by _anyone_ in my entire life. I came to fucking _work_ and your family took me in as if I was a son, and I feel like I never adequately thanked them for that. Which is a story for another day.”

“I love you, Oliver. We all do, very much.”

“I’ve been feeling better lately, but I don’t know...I don’t know how long that’s gonna last. It’s like, some days I feel like my old self and then sometimes this...this _darkness_ creeps over me and I feel like I’m not good enough or that -” He cut himself off with a bit of a self-deprecating laugh.

“Oliver, please don’t say that.”

“But I have to, Elio. It’s how I feel sometimes. But you’ve always been here for me. Taking care of me and supporting me and _fuck_ , Elio. I love you for it.”

For the first time in months, it felt like the cycle was breaking, like we were finally pushing through winter. Spring was just on the horizon, and Oliver and I were trudging on together. As we always had, and as we always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Criticisms/Kudos/Ideas are always welcome! I've also been waist deep in my other series, Follow Me, which is a Modern AU in which Elio and Oliver meet on Twitter! [You can find it here!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1099476)
> 
> As always, [Follow Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/) so we can scream about these boys!!! :)


	10. June in his eyes, in his heart January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! The last chapter! Came as a bit of a surprise to me too, but I'll (most likely) be continuing this series! Hope you enjoy!

As soon as April came around, I was tugging Oliver outside any chance I got. The warmer weather was doing us both good. Oliver was definitely starting to come back to himself. We continued our meetings with Mark, Oliver sometimes opting to go alone. I didn't push or pressure him to tell me what they talked about privately. Sometimes he’d tell me over dinner, sometimes he’d come home with red eyes and he’d shut himself up in our bedroom. 

For the most part, though, things were going well.

School was busy, of course, but I was really enjoying my second-semester classes. I was, of course, starting to feel the pressure that came with my approaching graduation. But, as Oliver reminded me many times, I was only a sophomore and had plenty of time to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Professor Kuznetsov had me performing nearly once a week, which actually gave me a pretty good glimpse into the life of a concert pianist, even if my schedule wasn’t as rigorous as the professionals’. Oliver came to every performance and our friends would occasionally come, too. But the loudest cheers were always Oliver’s. 

Soon enough, at the AIDS Resource Center, James’ now empty bed in Alondro’s room was filled. Once one patient died, another was quick to come in, which always left a pit in my stomach. I hated the rapid decline in the patients’ health towards the end, but was happy that was could give another man a comfortable bed and a warm meal. Alondro, slowly but surely, got back to his own self, and his new roommate was even invited to join his daily poker games with his merry band of residents. 

Despite our busy schedules with school and work and school, we still managed to maintain our social lives. Amanda was four months pregnant, so Oliver and I spent many Saturday mornings babysitting Kate. We caught Grant, Michael, and Hugh for dinners or coffees on Sunday, and I made sure to keep up with Matt and Cassidy. They even came to a few gay clubs with us downtown, and it always kind of blew my mind that even though Cassidy was a lesbian, I never really had any interaction with the other part of my gay community. I promised we’d one day let her take us to some of her favorite bars, but she never really pushed the issue, happy to tag along wherever we went.

For my 20th birthday, Oliver planned a spectacular celebration of my two decades on Earth. It was a Sunday, so we were blessedly free of any and all responsibilities. He made me peach pancakes for breakfast which, since it was the second birthday in a row that he did so, we decided that it would be a tradition. He ate me out in the shower afterward, tonguing at my hole until I was shaking and couldn’t stand on my own.

We went to MoMA afterward, where I mostly made fun of the more contemporary art. I could appreciate the classics: Van Gogh, Picasso. But anything  _ too _ modern didn’t sit well with me. It was probably the only museum in New York that I hated, but I had a great time giggling with Oliver as we watched museum-goers try to dissect the pieces.

After a late lunch at a small Greek place, we headed to Central Park and read aloud to each other from a book of poems my mother had sent me in the mail. Around 5, we went back to the apartment because Oliver insisted he had a yet another gift for me.

“Oliver,” I sighed as he pushed me into the bedroom, his hands over my eyes. “What did you do to our room this time?”

“Nothing! I promise. I got you something you’re really gonna need. Okay.” He positioned me just how he wanted and then uncovered my eyes. On the bed was a large white box with the Bloomingdale's logo and I looked at Oliver over my shoulder. He was grinning and he nudged me forward. “Go on. Open it.”

I did as I was told and took the lid off the box, quickly pushing aside the tissue paper. “Oh, Oliver!” I gasped, running my fingers over the smooth black fabric. There was a pristine tuxedo tucked into the box, complete with a cumberbund and a bowtie. The lapel was shiny silk and my stomach lurched with how stunning it was.

“There are cufflinks in the box,” Oliver said behind me.   


“This is too much. Far too much.”

“You need a new one for your performances. The other one is a little short. And if this doesn't fit just right, we can go get it tailored.”

Oliver was right. My old tux was  _ more _ than a little short, actually. It was from Italy, back when I was 15. I’d hit a growth spurt since then but hadn’t made the time to get a new one. “Thank you  _ so  _ much. So much, Oliver. This is way more than I ever could have asked for.”

“Now, why don’t you put that on?” Oliver said, coming up behind me and wrapping his hands around my hips. 

I laughed and turned in his hold so that I could kiss him. “Why?”

“Because first I’m taking you to dinner and then to the opera.”

“The -” I thought about the signs I’d seen up at Lincoln Center by school. “ _ Turandot _ ? We’re seeing  _ Turandot _ ?”

“We are.”

I squealed and threw my arms around Oliver’s neck, kissing all over his face. We hadn’t gone to the opera together since  _ Carmen _ when I first started at Juilliard. “God, I love you,” I gushed. Oliver wrapped his arms around my waist and held me close. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You are very welcome. Now come on, we have a reservation at The Grand Tier and we can’t be late.”

Towards the end of April, Jeffrey approached us with a proposition. We were all at the Center, hanging out in the recreation space upstairs. There were a few residents playing a board game and a few napping on the slightly tattered green cushions.

“You seem better,” Jeffrey said during a lull in our conversation. I took Oliver’s hand and squeezed.

“I’m getting there,” he said, scooting a bit closer to me on the sofa we were sharing. “I don’t know what I’d do without Elio and you and Mark and all our friends.” 

I smiled and kissed his cheek. “We’ll always be here for you, Oliver. No matter what.”

Jeffrey watched us with a warm smile and then leaned forward, elbow on his knees. “I’ve been doing a bit of thinking. The Pride Parade is on June 28th this year and I’d love for you both to march with us. I think we’re trying to get a group from the center to march with a banner, but if that doesn’t work out, I’d still like us to go.”

I looked over at Oliver, brows raised. I was fine with going. More than fine, actually. I wanted to band together with my brothers and sisters and parade down Fifth Avenue to Christopher Street to end the day at the iconic Stonewall Inn. But Oliver had always been the one who was more reserved regarding exposing our relationship. So, I waited for his answer.

“Have you been before?”

“I’ve been going for many years, even when I lived out in San Francisco. But I was always on the sidelines with my friends. I marched for the first time last year, just me and my friend Emmanuel who had moved here to New York with me. We didn’t set out to be associated with any particular group, but we knew we wanted to be at the front end of the parade so that we could party hop around to the various festivities afterward. We actually ended up spending our day with Gays Against Guns and the Church of St. Luke in the Field, which was how I met Mark. We had to wait a few avenues away from Fifth in a holding pen of sorts where we waited and made friends and drank wine I’d snuck in in a Nalgene. We applied glitter and waved our flags and caught up with each other because we hadn’t seen each other in a while. Eventually, and with a great scream, we were released from our holding pen and began to stream towards Fifth Avenue where we would march downtown towards our liberation’s start.

That moment, where you turn onto the parade route and look down the slight slope of Fifth Avenue where a sea of people march ahead of you and where on either side of you people are packed against the barricades celebrating your existence, joining in your protest that your queer family is still being attacked, arms and voices raised with you, for you, with you… Your heart beats just a little bit faster. Your back straightens. Your chest doesn’t cave in on itself like it does at your day job. Your eyes widen, lips part start to smile. And what’s that behind your sunglasses? Tears of joy and gratitude and  _ pride _ . And you march down past the cheering crowds, singing pop songs, screaming for the drag queens on the stages at appointed spots along the route, falling to the floor in moments of protest for gun control. Dancing, drinking, laughing, crying. It’s the best day of your life. And you remember exactly none of what was said other than the roar of the din filling you up and making you whole. 

And when you reach the end of the parade route near the Christopher Street Pier, your legs are sore despite walking less than two miles. But it’s not the gods punishing you, it’s your queer ancestors reminding you how lucky you are to be alive. You walk to a pizza joint and grab a slice of pizza and you a bottle of cheap wine and you go to the after party with friends. You smell like sweat and cement and love and joy and infinity and you drink too much wine, you  _ maybe _ blackout. You wake up the next morning somehow having gotten home safely.

But there’s no regret because you’ll always have that moment where you turned on to Fifth Avenue and felt the surge of energy. The Universe or God or your community validated you and you felt seen and real and safe and good and bad and loved all at once. There was no questioning that you were exactly the version of you that you needed to be so that you could have this exact experience. It’s the closest you’ve ever felt to the presence of a God. And not only to the presence of a God, but also a God who loves you on this exact day in this exact moment in your exact life.

Maybe our lives are not ours to live according to our wishes. Maybe we owe something. Maybe not. Maybe we owe whatever it is we owe to our community, to our fellow faggots, to our families, and maybe what we owe is the fiercest fight imaginable. Sure, you don’t know if you believe in God or the gods or a higher power, but you know that the stories have always been there. A common language going forward. And as you whirl down the street you know it can’t be perfect, but it’s pretty close.”

“Fuck,” I choked, using the hem of my shirt to wipe my eyes. “Fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.” They were happy tears, of course, just from imagining the feeling of walking with thousands of people who loved and validated our existence.

Oliver let go of my hand but wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against his side. “We’d be honored to walk with you.”

I looked up at Oliver, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I do. Please.”

Jeffrey laughed and reached over to ruffle my curls. “I’ll let you know what you can do to help us out, babydoll. Now,” he checked his watch and stood, “I believe it’s time for us to make another round with the cart.”

Later that night in bed, I flipped from my stomach onto my side to face Oliver. “Did you mean it?” I asked, trying to make out his profile in the darkness. 

“What?”

“Us marching. In the parade.”

“Of course I did, baby.”

I hummed and draped myself over Oliver’s chest. His arms automatically wrapped around me. “It’s 1986,” I said a few minutes later, not sure if Oliver was still up.

“Mmh. It is.”

“In a couple months, I’ll have known you for three years.”

“Three years,” Oliver repeated. He buried his nose in my curls and inhaled deeply. “Went fast.”

“It did.” I traced idle patterns on his chest and he did the same over my back. “I’ve been thinking about the future a lot.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I propped my chin up on his chest so that I could look up at him as best I could in the dark. “What I wanna do. How I wanna be. With you.”

“Tell me,” Oliver requested, his voice just a soft whisper.

“I think I want to be a concert pianist,” I said, the words leaving in a rush. I’d never said that out loud before and that seemed to make it feel like it could be a reality. “And I wanna be with you for forever.”

Oliver laughed and tugged at a curl. “I want that too.”

I hummed and rested my head back down on his chest. “I wish we could get married.” The words, the thought, made my stomach swoop and I snuggled a little closer. I was young - we both were - but the one thing I was sure of was that I wanted to be with Oliver for the rest of my life.

“Maybe we can go to Italy in a few years,” Oliver said slowly, “after you graduate. And we can have a little ceremony with family and friends. Nothing official or legal but -”

“It’ll be official and legal to me.”

“Me too.” 

I surged up and kissed Oliver, which made him laugh against my lips. He pushed my hair back and slowed the kiss down, dialing down my urgency. “I love you,” I whispered. “God, I love you, Oliver.” I needed all of him. Desperate to take his name, to take his cock, to take every inch of him. Oliver pulled back and reached over for the lube just as I swung my leg over his hips and settled in his lap.

“Like this?” Oliver asked, coating his fingers and then nudging his hand between my thighs.

“Like this. Please.” I was already half hard as I rocked my hips back, sighing with relief as Oliver pushed one finger inside. I looked down at him, only to find that I could see just the outline of his face. I huffed and reached over to flip on the bedside lamp. We both squinted at each other, adjusting to the light, before both bursting into a fit of giggles. My laughter quickly died down once Oliver started moving his finger again, and my breath hitched in my throat.

“Do you like living here?” Oliver asked. I looked down to find him staring up at me with complete awe. 

“You know I do. I love New York.”

“No, I mean in this apartment specifically.” He added another finger and I hissed but rocked my hips back. “I didn’t really give you a choice in the matter. This was where I lived when you moved here and…” He shrugged.

“Oliver,” I sighed, now practically riding his fingers. “I  _ love _ this apartment. It’s the perfect mix of both of us. And it’s in the best neighborhood.” I furrowed my brows as I sat back on his fingers and ran my hand over my chest to tweak at a nipple. “Why? Do you wanna move?”

“No! No. I love it here.” He pushed his fingers in a little deeper, pressing against my prostate. My lips curled up into a smile at the mischievous look in his eyes. “I love seeing you here. Takes me by surprise every day. Coming in and seeing you on the couch. Or waking up to you sleeping in my bed next to me. Your towel next to mine, two toothbrushes on the sink. The drawer you’ve commandeered as your own in my desk.” His fingers were relentless against my prostate and my cock was soon leaking steadily onto Oliver’s stomach. “I’ve lived in this apartment for  _ so _ long, since my senior year of college. Seven years in total and two with you. And still, every day, it’s like a happy little surprise seeing you here.”

“Fuck me, Elio.” My voice cracked and a shiver rolled down my spine. “Elio, Elio, Elio…”

“Oliver.” He slipped his fingers from me and slicked up his cock. I shifted above him, positioning myself perfectly for him to push up into me. 

“Can I take your name?” I asked once I was fully seated on Oliver’s lap, his cock thick and hot and hard inside me. “When we get married?”

“You already have my name, Oliver.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I couldn’t - couldn’t ask you to do that. You’re Elio  _ Perlman _ .”

“Elio Stern,” I said, the name feeling foreign on my tongue. “Oliver Perlman. Elio Stern-Perlman. Perlman-Stern?”

“Elio,” Oliver admonished, snapping his hips up. I cried out, immediately brought back to the present moment.

“Sorry,” I laughed, leaning down for a quick kiss. “Got distracted.”

“I dunno if I should be offended because you’re distracted when my dick is up your ass.” He kissed me again. “Or flattered because my dick up your ass made you think about marrying me.”

“Neither. Stop being haughty.”

“Hey!”

“I believe I asked you to fuck me,” I said quickly, rolling my hips to try and get Oliver moving. 

“Yeah, yeah. I got you.” Oliver wrapped his hands around my hips and planted his feet on the bed. We moved in tandem, both rolling our hips. I settled down, pressing our chests together with my elbows propped on either side of his head.

“I want everything with you, Oliver. Want to grow old with you.” 

“We can. We can do that. We can do everything.”

“Promise? Promise we’ll do everything.” My voice was high and the desperation was evident.

“I swear it, baby,” Oliver said against my lips. I kissed him then, deep and languid as we moved against each other. We both only lasted a good five minutes before we were both right on the edge, both trembling and whimpering. 

“How,” I asked, breathless, “how do you do this to me?” I was so hard it hurt and my cock dragged along Oliver’s stomach, through my own precome, with each thrust. “You get me so fucking clo-” My balls drew up, my breath stuttered in my chest, every hair on my body stood on edge. I came against Oliver’s stomach, streaking white even up over his chest. 

“Fuck, Elio.” Oliver squeezed my ass as my hole tightened around him and he buried himself deep inside me as he came, filling me completely.

“Don’t pull out,” I said just as soon as Oliver came. I said it every time, and would never stop. “Please don’t pull out.”

Oliver laughed and ran his hands up and down my sides. “I know the drill.” I settled on top of him and pushed my face into his neck. He ran one hand down my spine and then to the spot where Oliver was still inside me. He brushed his fingers over my hole, spread wide around him, and I groaned. “Why do you like this so much?” he asked. “Keeping me inside you after?”

“Like to keep your come inside me,” I murmured, already sleepy. 

“Should get you a plug, hmm?”

“A what?” Oliver laughed at my question and I nipped at his neck. “Hey, don’t laugh at me!”

“An anal plug.” He drew his hand back up to my hair and twirled my curls around his fingers. “So I can plug all my come inside of you. Even after I’ve gone soft.”

“Fuck.” My cock twitched against Oliver’s stomach and he laughed again. “Will you  _ stop _ laughing at me?”

Oliver kissed my temple and reached over to turn off the light. “We should sleep,” he whispered against my ear. “We have plans early with Amanda and Kate tomorrow.”

My final performance of sophomore year was on Thursday, May 14th. Professor Kuznetsov and the rest of the music department had convinced me to play a ticketed event. Students didn’t normally do so, and I hated being the one singled out in my class, but Professor Kuznetsov (and Oliver) kept reminding me that I needed to own just how talented I was.

“If you want to be a concert pianist,” Oliver said as he helped me with my bowtie, “you’re gonna have to get used to performing for packed concert halls.”

“I just don’t like that I’m the only one in the class doing this. Everyone else is just doing regular weeknight performances.”

“Hey.” Oliver cupped my cheek and tilted my head back, forcing me to look up at him. “You are  _ unbelievably _ talented and it’s no wonder that the department asked you to play a special concert. This is how you start making a name for yourself, Elio. You’re gonna be amazing and you’re gonna ace all of your exams next week and then we’ll be on summer break.”

“Summer,” I repeated. “Finally.” It had been a rough year and all I wanted for my junior year in college was no deaths in our immediate circle. 

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said as he fixed my curls.

“For what?”

“For the past few months. I haven’t handled my grief well.”

I opened my eyes and looked up at him - my beautiful, perfect Oliver. “Do you know what my dad told me after you left?”

Oliver shook his head and brushed his fingers over my cheek. “You don’t have to.”

“He told me that our hearts and bodies are given to us once only. And that right now, there's sorrow and pain. Don't kill it and with it the joy you've felt.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Oliver asked.”

I shook my head. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Not only do I have you, I have your parents.” He kissed me, just a soft brush of his lips against mine. “I couldn’t have asked for a better family.” He dropped his hand to my wrist and lifted it to check the time on my watch - the watch he gave me. “We should probably get going.”

The hall was indeed sold out that night, and I had to take a few long, steadying breaths before I headed out onto the stage. I was playing two thirty minute pieces that night. The first was Schumann's Fantasie in C, which he dedicated to Liszt. Fifteen years later, Liszt dedicated his Piano Sonata in B minor to Schumann in return. That was the second piece I’d chosen and the entire performance would be about an hour. They were both demanding pieces, and I barely remembered anything of the performance once I’d hit the final note. I’d been working so hard for months, studying and transcribing and practicing and once I finally finished, I had to sit on the bench for a second just to collect myself.

I gave the required bows, my cheeks flushed from my playing as well as from the standing ovation. As soon as I gave my final bow, I scurried off stage and tucked myself away into a quiet and dark corner. Performing to a completely sold out crowd that wasn’t made up of just friends and relatives of my classmates had my entire body thrumming with adrenaline. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there, but Oliver found me some time later.

“Elio?”

“Yeah.” I had my head tipped back against the wall and my eyes were closed, my bowtie was already undone and hanging around my neck.

“You were fantastic.” Next thing I knew, Oliver’s lips were against my neck and I instantly relaxed. “How’d it feel? Playing for  _ an hour _ to a sold-out hall?”

“Incredible,” I admitted, finally wrapping my arms around Oliver’s neck. He had me pinned up against the wall and I was thankful that it was dark backstage. “Did everyone seem to like it?”

“I overheard Kuznetsov talking afterward. He couldn't stop singing your praises - how you put so much effort and thought into your performances. How beautifully you play.”

“Will you take me home?” I asked, breathless as Oliver kissed up my neck.

Oliver grinned against my neck and then was suddenly tugging me towards the exit. We took a cab back home, and just as soon as we were in the apartment, Oliver was sinking to his knees in front of me.

“Oliver,” I sighed, my fingers instantly sinking into his hair. He made quick work of pushing my pants and boxers down around my ankles, leaving me only in my shirt and jacket. Even though I was still soft, he took my cock into his mouth, letting it harden against his tongue. “Fuck.” I let my head thunk back against the door as Oliver began moving his head. With Oliver’s mouth around me, I felt like all of my stress and anxiety from the past few weeks was instantly relieved.

Oliver swirled his tongue around the head of my cock before sinking his lips all the way down, his nose pressed into the hairs at the base. He inhaled deeply and I tugged at his hair. He looked up at me then, eyes shining with pride and love and adoration and -

“Fuck.” I pushed my hips forward, every muscle in my body seizing up as I came down his throat. He pulled back once I was done and lapped over my cock until I was oversensitive and shaking. As soon as he stood up, I surged forward and kissed him, tasting myself on his tongue. “I want you to come on my face,” I managed between kisses. I shucked my tuxedo jacket and tried to unbutton my shirt as quickly as possible as I got onto my knees, heedless of the rest of my suit still crumpled around my ankles. I looked up at Oliver as I leaned in and mouthed at the outline of his cock through his slacks. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he murmured as he undid his belt. In a flurry of motion, he dropped his slacks and boxers, his cock bobbing against my lips. I stuck out my tongue and lapped at the head, groaning at the taste of his precome. Oliver cupped my cheek with one hand and, with the other, stroked over himself, already setting a fast pace.

“Love you,” I said, looking up and locking eyes with Oliver. “So much.”

“Elio,” Oliver warned, his grip on my jaw tightening a little. 

“Yeah, c’mon, mark me, Oliver. Make me yours.”

“Mine,” he repeated, hunching over on himself a bit as his rhythm faltered. He was coming just a few moments later, thick and hot over my face. I couldn’t help but smile as he ran his thumb through the mess on my cheek. I turned my head so that I could capture his finger with my lips, sucking it clean. Oliver pulled me up and I stumbled a little what with my pants still bunched at my feet. But he caught me and then he was tilting my head back and kissing me. 

“Shower?” I breathed once Oliver finally pulled back. I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, eyes raking over the streaks of come that were drying on my face. He licked up my cheek and then kissed over my jaw.

“Yeah. Shower.”

Finals week was a killer, but I only had to make it through five exams before I was home free for summer. The day of my last final, I met Oliver up by Columbia and we went out for a celebratory dinner before heading down to some of our favorite clubs downtown. We really let go - drinking and dancing the night away until we could barely stand. But it didn’t matter. We didn’t have school the next day, or for three months for that matter, and we could stay out as late as we wanted. We finally stumbled back into our apartment at 4 am and practically collapsed into bed.

We still continued to meet with Mark, working through what it meant to be queer, how we could help our fellow brothers and sisters, reconciling our religion and our sexuality, discussing the grieving process. Sometimes we talked about Daniel or about Oliver’s mom, and our hour with Mark would end in tears. Sometimes we’d talk about all of the wonderful improvements down at the Resource Center. 

On a day in late May, Mark turned the conversation to religion, something we’d been talking a lot about for the past few months.

“Would you ever think of coming to services here at the church?”

Oliver’s hand immediately went up to his Star of David, and he played with the pendant for a bit. “I don’t - I’m not sure.” He looked over at me and I shrugged. We’d never really gone to Temple back in Italy, just celebrated the Jewish holidays in the privacy of our own home.

“What about going to Temple?” Mark asked.

“Mark,” Oliver said with a huff of a laugh, “I don’t know if I even believe that there is a god.”

“There once was a God,” Mark said, crossing his legs and giving us a smile, “or a set of gods, and they created the Earth and all those who walk on it. There are those who believe in this deity, or set of, and those who don’t believe. And, of course, there are those who aren’t so sure yet. And that’s okay. Maybe those who aren’t sure or those who don’t believe hold it in the back of their heads that the gods are compassionate and would forgive their lack of faith. Those who aren’t so sure if a god exists, myself included, begin to formulate a list of what God might be.”

We were quiet then as I thought about who or what God was to me. “God might be a kindly muse,” I said, looking over at Oliver and then back at Mark. “That seems to be the most convenient, right? Because then God’s morality revolves around your conscience. If you do what you feel is right and good and God the Kindly Muse agrees. If you sacrifice sleep to have sex all night, that’s right and good. If you call in sick to work, that’s right and good. God the Kindly Muse isn’t judging you for your actions or choices or your sexuality. God the Kindly Muse comforts you for who you are and how you are. This God, then, is the antithesis of Judaism or Catholicism, which essentially cut out queer people. So, I guess, for me, God the Kindly Muse just holds me close as I try to grapple with...myself.”

“Nicely said,” Mark nodded, a proud smile on his face.

I moved closer to Oliver and looked up at him. “What about you, baby?”

Oliver looked down at where our fingers were linked together. “Maybe God is in the pulse of my calves when I run from 155th down to 60th and back. Through Central Park, through the Ramble, averting my eyes if I ever see men fucking in public secret. Past Tavern on the Green and around Columbus Circle and up through Riverside Park.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Maybe that’s where God is. In how badly my calves hurt sometimes after I run. Reminding me to behave, or there’s more where that came from. Sure, maybe it’s biology, but maybe it’s God. There’s so much joy and fear in trying to figure out what God might be. It’s scary and overwhelming and messy and filled with justifications. But the world we live in makes it hard to believe in God too much. And existing as a gay man makes it easy to believe in God too little. The world we live in and existing in it as a gay man makes it hard to be a good person. And I find myself wondering every fucking day what God might be.”

I squeezed Oliver’s hand and leaned in to kiss his shoulder. “We’re gonna figure it out together,” I whispered. Oliver squeezed my hand back and lifted his head back up. He looked down at me with a warm, albeit teary, smile and I couldn’t help but lean up and kiss him.

“Are you two going to join us at the parade in June?”

“I think so,” I said, turning back to Mark. “Did Jeffrey get approval for the Center to march?”

“He did. I do hope you’ll come with us all. We really do appreciate everything you do down at the Center and I can’t thank you enough.”

I shrugged and rested my head on Oliver’s shoulder. “No need to thank us, we enjoy it.” We spoke after about the weather and our plans for summer, at which point, Oliver and I realized we didn’t really have any solid plans.

“What would you like to do this summer?” he asked on our way back home. 

“Maybe my parents can come visit. Or Marzia.”

“That would be nice.” Oliver knocked his shoulder against mine as we waited for the subway. “Would you want to go back to Italy again?”

I shrugged and shoved my hands into my pockets. “I don’t want to force you to go back,” I said quietly, looking down at my sneakers. 

“You wouldn’t be forcing me. You know I love it there.”

“I’d like to take you to Milan someday. Maybe for Christmas break next year.” 

“How about we call your parents when we get home? Maybe they can come in July.”

“Really?” 

“Of course. I want to see them too, y’know.”

I was so thankful for Oliver at that moment, that he wanted to see my parents just as much as I did. I slipped my hand into his and pressed closer as the train came rushing into the station. It was already warm and humid and I could tell that the coming months were going to be brutally hot, but I was excited for the promise of summer. 

The next month went by fast. Most days were spent out in Central Park or at the Met. Oliver even convinced me to come out on some runs with him, but I much preferred my bike. We pumped air into the tires and took them out to the bike paths in the park, racing each other up and down the small hills. 

Soon enough, June was upon us, and Jeffrey took us out shopping in the Village for clothes to wear to pride.

“Show off those beautiful legs, honey,” Jeffrey said to Oliver, holding up a short pair of jean shorts. 

I snickered and snatched the shorts from Jeffrey’s hands, holding them up to Oliver’s waist. “You know, he actually has shorts  _ shorter _ than this?”

“Oh really?”

“Elio,” Oliver whined, his cheeks bright pink.

“Yep. So short his di-” 

“Okay!” Oliver clapped his hand over my mouth, cutting me off. “That’s enough of that.”

We ended up both finding matching white tee shirts with a simple rainbow on them. Jeffrey promised that they would be equipped with banners and flags and  _ a lot _ of glitter on the day of.

On the morning of the 28th, Oliver woke me up with kisses over my shoulders. “C’mon,” he whispered, trying to tug me out of bed even though I wanted to stay in bed for a few more minutes. “I got bagels.”

“Jesus.” I lifted my head to glance at the clock. “How fucking early did you wake up?”

“Really early.” He laughed and dropped his forehead to my shoulder. “I went for a run this morning.”

“Are you kidding me? We’re about to march in a huge parade and you went for a  _ run _ ? What, at 5 am?”

“Maybe. We need to leave here around 10:30. So come on. Get up.”

Once we arrived at the start of the parade route, it was a flurry of activity. The streets were teeming with people and my eyes were drawn in just about every direction, trying to take everything in. Oliver grabbed my hand as we made our way to the predetermined meeting spot. We found Jeffrey, Mark, and the rest of our group from the Center just a few minutes later. We exchanged quick hugs before Jeffrey pulled glitter sticks out of his fanny pack.

“Alright, come here, gorgeous,” he said to Oliver. Jeffrey painted a glittery little rainbow on Oliver’s cheek and then did the same on mine. Oliver and I looked at each other with huge smiles and my breath stuttered. I never would have imagined I’d end up there: living in New York City with Oliver Stern, my boyfriend, at a gay pride parade in 1986. I’d come a long way from the 17-year-old I was when Oliver arrived in Italy. We’d  _ both _ come a long way, and I was so proud to take Oliver’s hand in my own, ready to march alongside our brothers and sisters.

Before we started marching, Mark gathered our group around him. “Let us pray,” he said, his head bowed. Oliver wrapped his arm around my waist and I let him pull me close. “To the need for love and to the need to be loved. The need to keep going. Let us pray for all of these things because at the heart of it all, living here in this city, that is the core of our morality. The tedium and rage of existence is fueled by love and persistence and the product love and persistence in our life defines our belief in God. And so today we pray to and for all these things. For each other and for all of you. For ourselves. We pray for each other because it is kind. We pray for  _ ourselves _ most of all because to live in this city is to be selfish. And to be selfish is to love oneself with a burning intensity in  _ exactly _ the way one wants to be loved.”

“I love you,” I said to Oliver once Mark had finished and we all got in position to start marching.

“Thank you,” Oliver said, turning to me. He put his hands on my waist and I threw mine around his neck. “Thank you for loving me and for accepting me. For everything over the past three years. Thank you for helping me become  _ me _ .” He kissed me, tipping me back a bit as he did so, heedless of anyone around us. I tossed my head back and laughed as he began kissing my neck. With one final peck, he took a step back but grabbed my hand.

“You ready?” I asked, smiling from ear to ear as the group marching just in front of us started on the route.

“As long as I’ve got you, I’m ready for anything.”

And he was right. 

As we started walking down Fifth, surrounded by rainbow flags, drag queens, our friends, and chosen family, I knew we could do anything. We were still a long way off from equality. We were still a long way off from figuring out our place in the world. We were still a long way off from being able to reconcile the grief from our losses. 

I looked over at Oliver, who was smiling wider than I’d ever seen. Sure, we were still a long way from a lot, and our lives wouldn’t be devoid of hardships. But I had Oliver and Oliver had me. And that meant we could do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for Elio's second year in New York! I'm guessing Part 3 will be his junior year? Haven't given much thought to it! Anyways, I hope you all liked the chapter and that it wasn't too rushed or anything -- this just felt like the natural way for this part to end. But I don't think I can leave this behind, so there will be some sort of Part 3 for sure!
> 
> Comments/Criticisms/Kudos always welcome!!
> 
> As always, [Follow Me On Tumblr](https://all-things-all-the-time.tumblr.com/) so we can scream about these boys!!! :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Schumann's Fantasie](https://youtu.be/XZ7hE4lQAYs)
> 
>  
> 
> [Liszt's Sonata](https://youtu.be/IeKMMDxrsBE)


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